


A Town Without Pity

by seanchaidh



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seanchaidh/pseuds/seanchaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy have both grown up knowing they're mutants. When they're individually visited by Erik Lensherr and Charles Xavier in 1962, they embark on a journey to find other mutants, and to ultimately decide which fate they'll choose: rage or serenity.  Part of the Star Trek Big Bang 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Town Without Pity

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for LJ's 2011 Star Trek Big Bang. I have several wonderful people to thank for their part in helping this story. My roommate, Vimy, for listening to my early ideas and providing ideas for characters' mutations, as well as information about the X-Men canon; canis_takahari for the X-Men highlights, the cheerleading and encouragement through several different moments; kronos999 for editing and brainstorming; enkanowen for the company and X-Men information; sternel for the mutual support; weepingnaiad for looking over one of the partial drafts; abigail89 for being awesome and a patient Southern-checker; affectingly for the local lore on the St. Louis region; yeomanrand for calming my nerves and producing such a great collection of songs; and littlewolfstar for making me excited about the art.

_**Mississippi, 1962** _

 

Leonard McCoy is twenty-one when he learns he's not alone.

 

He's just been accepted to med school, and he's out celebrating with his friends in the campus bar. They've been at it awhile, and it feels like every single classmate who's here has bought him a drink. It's not that Leonard's a lightweight around booze, but tonight he's feeling lightheaded as another shot of bourbon gets pressed into his hand as someone – it's hard to tell right now – slaps him on the back with a cheery shout over the music.

 

"Drink up, McCoy!" Christensen yells at him, raising up his own glass and tapping Leonard's heavily. The liquid sloshes over onto the table, but he ignores it as he leans forward. "Lucky bastard, you know. I'm still waiting for my letter!"

 

"You'll get it," Leonard says, and tosses back his drink. He makes a satisfied face at the burn going down his throat, and finds himself distracted again by the same waitress he's been noticing since they arrived an hour ago. She's not usually his type, but what he first noticed was the nape of her neck, bared by the ponytail which might be plain compared to the fancier updos the other girls are wearing. She's flashed him a smile the one time he caught her eye, but he's too shy to try approaching her.

 

Christensen slides his gaze across the room, noticing the waitress. He grins as he nudges Leonard in the side. "You should go talk to her."

 

"No way," Leonard mutters, running his finger around the rim of his glass.

 

"Oh, come on," Christensen encourages.

 

Leonard shakes his head. "I said no."

 

The truth is, the alcohol's brought out his insecurities, and while Leonard knows he can be charming if he tries, this doesn't feel like the night. He wipes his mouth, his whiskers rubbing against the back of his hand, and focuses on the other students with a smile. He tries to focus on the conversation, but there's another thought that echoes through his mind. It's not often that he dwells on the thought, but tonight it won't leave him alone.

 

Would they still be so happy to be here if they knew about his secret?

 

He shoves the thought aside, and listens into the story that Hollis is in the middle of telling, never particularly well, about his last date. Leonard's beginning to think about getting another round of drinks, and is in the process of drawing breath to voice the idea, when there's a crash beside the bar.

 

The pretty waitress is kneeling down to collect the tray that's fallen from her hands, and from the way she's suddenly flinched, Leonard knows she's just cut herself. He's over there in a moment, steady despite the alcohol he's consumed, and up close he can see the blood welling vividly red across her palm.

 

"Goddamn it," she's swearing.

 

Leonard holds out her hand. "Let me see?"

 

The waitress looks at him with cool blue eyes, and he sees that she's considering his question. He glances at her name tag, slightly askew on her blouse. Jocelyn, a very pretty name. He looks back at her hand, as the first drops of blood land on the floor.

 

“I'm a med student,” he continues, although it's a slight exaggeration at the moment. What matters is that he can help. “I just want to see how bad it is.”

 

Jocelyn finally lets him take her hand, and her skin is clammy against his. The gash is deep and bleeding profusely, but he can tell by the feel that all he really needs to do is fix the worst of it. Despite his temptation to do otherwise, he can't heal it until there's only a faint scar left. His hands warm for a moment as the blood flows until it's just weeping, and then Leonard nods with a smile.

 

“That's not too bad,” he says. “You'll just need a bandaid, and it should be good as new. Just make sure to disinfect it."

 

She smiles her thanks. "Medical student, hmm?"

 

"That's right," he says.

 

“And do you have a name?” she asks.

 

Leonard feels his cheeks redden. “Leonard McCoy, ma'am.”

 

“Well, then, Leonard McCoy,” Jocelyn says, and she isn't taking her hand away from him. “You've got a good bedside manner."

 

"You'd be the first to say so," he tells her.

 

"Maybe you can show me more later," she says, and then she's pulling away to disappear behind the bar.

 

Leonard watches her go, and for the first time, he considers that while it might be weird to have the ability to convince another person's cells to heal at an accelerated rate, there could be much worse things in the world.

 

_Yes, there certainly are._

 

He can feel the voice in his head, and it's a strange feeling, like a not-quite-physical presence amid his thoughts. Leonard's on his feet in a moment, and he's glancing around the bar in a desperate bid to figure out just what that was. He sees them a moment later, the two men sitting together in a corner, and they're both watching him.

 

 _I apologize for interrupting your celebration_ , the voice continues, and from the merry-eyed squint he sees coming from the smaller of the two, Leonard realizes that it's him who's talking. _And yes, your assumption is correct, Leonard McCoy. However, we'd be more than happy to buy you another drink and explain why we're here._

 

The invitation is too intriguing to ignore, and Leonard slips into the booth with a bit of a frown. They're both about ten years older than him, he estimates, and they make an odd pair. The taller of the two has a hawkish face, with pale blue eyes that have seen something Leonard can't imagine. He has a warm, thin-lipped smile, and he seems content to play second-fiddle to the other man who leans forward with puppy-like eagerness.

 

"I'm Charles Xavier," the telepath begins, with a pleasantly accented voice. "And this is my colleague, Erik Lensherr. We don't intend to keep you very long, Mr. McCoy, but we're interested in your particular talents."

 

"Why?" Leonard can't help asking, although he already knows what one of them can do. "What possible interest might you have in me? I'm what I am, a healer, and that's what I intend to do."

 

"How very fortunate for you," Lensherr says, and his voice has a delicate accent that Leonard can't place.

 

"Did you know there were other mutants such as yourself out there, Leonard?" Xavier asks.

 

"Well, no," Leonard admits, "but I've considered it to be a possibility. There are millions of humans, and I'm just one of how many? It makes sense that there would be other ones out there."

 

If anything, Xavier's smile widens. "I'm glad you agree."

 

Something clicks into place in Leonard's mind, despite the alcohol, and he feels his eyes widen. "Wait a moment, are you the Xavier out of Oxford who's studied genetic mutations and the potential for human evolution?"

 

"I am!" Xavier is almost gleeful.

 

"I've read your work, it's pretty solid." Leonard blinks as a drink is placed in front of him by another waitress. He glances across the room and sees that Jocelyn's back on the floor, with a white bandage wrapped around her hand. He takes a sniff and finds it's a bourbon that he can't afford on his student budget, and he smiles at the other men. "So tell me why you're here buying me a drink."

 

"The time has come for our kind to assemble together," Lensherr begins.

 

"How so?" Leonard toasts the other two and takes a sip.

 

"Up until now, being a mutant has meant being alone," Xavier says, with a glance at Lensherr who doesn't seem to notice. "We've either hidden in plain sight, or tried to accommodate our differences as best we can. What Erik and I are proposing now is an opportunity for all mutants to join together."

 

"And do what?" Leonard asks.

 

"Whatever we wish," Lensherr says, a dangerous glint in his eyes for a moment.

 

Xavier touches two fingers to his temple, and gives Lensherr a pointed look. From the way the other man ducks his head, Leonard realizes that Xavier's probably told him to back down. He suddenly realizes that he's only seen one talent, so far, and that makes him curious.

 

"What can you do?" Leonard asks, setting down his glass. "What's your talent?"

 

"Nothing quite as practical as a healing touch," Lensherr says, lifting his own drink to his lips. He waves his other hand toward Leonard, and there's suddenly a tug at his body. The metal buttons on his shirt are slowly pulling forward, straining against the thread and cloth. Just as Leonard worries that some might pop loose, the pressure eases without a wrinkle. "You might say I have a magnetic personality."

 

"That's certainly one way of phrasing it," Xavier says, drily. "Now, I realize this isn't telling you much, and perhaps now isn't the time for you to be making this decision."

 

Leonard considers that for a long moment, and glances back toward the room. He sees his friends, but they don't seem to have noticed his absence yet. His gaze drifts across to Jocelyn, who now seems hyper aware of his presence. She smiles, suddenly shy, and focuses on her tasks.

 

"If I had any other talent," he begins, "maybe I would go with you."

 

Neither man seems particularly surprised.

 

"But I want to be a doctor," he says. "I know I can be a good one, and I want to stay. My future is here, and, well, maybe that'll change in time."

 

"Perhaps," Lensherr says, setting down his empty glass.

 

Leonard nods, and reaches out to grasp his hand first, before shaking Xavier's. "We can keep in touch, though. My specialty's going to be surgery, but I do admit that I find genetics interesting. Maybe in the future, we can work together on something."

 

"I'll look forward to that day," Xavier says, and though he seems disappointed by Leonard's decision, he's not unhappy. "I also look forward to calling you Doctor McCoy."

 

It sounds weird to hear it referred to him, instead of his father, and Leonard feels a little thrill going down his spine. "Thank you, that means a lot."

 

Lensherr pulls himself upright, and there's a calculating look on his face. "I also wish you every success, Mr. McCoy, but remember that every secret will eventually have to face the light of day."

 

What could've been foreboding instead sounds matter-of-fact, and they leave it like that.

 

~~~

 

_**Iowa, 1962** _

 

Jim Kirk is fifteen years old when he tries to pole vault over the cliff.

 

It's not the first time he's tried to do something stupid, and it certainly won't be the last. He knows it's foolhardy, but the lure of testing his limits is something he can't just ignore. He barely gets the chance to see just what he's capable of doing, and the challenge ahead of him is the best way to try.

 

He scuffs his sneakers against the gravel road, and then starts to warm up with a quick jog around the farmyard. Jim's always loved running, and he used to race his older brother Sam across the fields. For the longest time, it was always Sam who won, though every once in a while he'd let Jim win. Sam, with his bright smile, who was the only person who really seemed to care about Jim.

 

And then one day, Jim got faster.

 

A lot faster.

 

His warm-up takes him back to the house, and he picks up the long pole he's made in anticipation of this stunt. He's never actually done this, but he's watched enough track and field events with a longing gaze to know how the mechanics are meant to work. He knows roughly where he's going to start running, and about three or four feet from the edge, he'll bring the pole down and across the chasm he'll go.

 

He still isn't sure it's going to work, and if it doesn't, he has no idea what he'll do.

 

A sweat has barely broken out on his skin when he moves into position, and even then, it's only because of the heat of the Indian Summer that's got Iowa in its grips. Jim swipes at his forehead with an absent-minded hand, and then wipes his palms against his shorts. He's got twice the distance to cover than a normal pole vaulter, but then again, he'll need the running start for this.

 

He feels the adrenaline starting to thrum in his veins, and his concentration narrows into the moment. All he sees is his goal, and his mind replays the process in his mind.

 

"Three, two, one," he counts down, even though there's only the faint breeze to hear his words. "Go!"

 

He's off in a blur, feet pounding against the ground as he gains speed. He's approaching the edge before he's had time to blink, and with a smooth movement, he brings the pole down. His momentum carries him forward, and he's being propelled up and out into the air. He doesn't look down at first, and keeps running more from instinct than anything else.

 

And then he dares to look down.

 

The bottom of the quarry is far below, and this is what an eagle must feel as it soars overhead. Jim's feeling a tiny rush of apprehension but it's drowned out by the adrenaline thrumming through his veins. He feels alive and powerful, and he lets out a shout of victory that echoes against the valley walls.

 

He realizes an instant later that he's got a problem. His trajectory isn't what he thought it was, and he's going to fall short of the other side. He curses, angling himself forward and trying to reach for the edge. It's not that far away, he just needs to extend himself further by a few inches, but his fingertips don't even come close to brushing the ground.

 

The reasonable part of his brain just has time to say “told you so, Wily E. Coyote” when he starts to fall.

 

 _I don't see an anvil anywhere_ , a voice that isn't his own answers in his mind.

 

Something stops his fall, and he can feel the suspension coming from a few parts of his body: the metal eyelets in his runners, the buckle of his belt, the weight of his watch, and the dog tags he wears faithfully around his neck. A second later, he's rising up and the forward toward the edge of the cliff which he grabs onto with hands drenched in cold sweat. He slips once, his knees scraping against the rock, but then there's a hand reaching down toward him.

 

"Need a hand?" says a man, tall with a fond look on his long face.

 

Jim doesn't even think about it, and fumbles for his hand before shimmying to safety. He's lying on the rocky ground a few moments later, never so happy to be belly-first on the Iowa soil, and he rolls onto his side to contemplate his rescuer.

 

No, make that rescuers, because Jim can now see there's a second man standing nearby. He's smaller with wavy brown hair, and he looks slightly amused at what Jim's just done.

 

Not exactly the reaction he'd expect from two adults, that's for damned sure.

 

"Thanks," Jim says finally, and manages to get to his feet. He shoves sandy hair from his eyes, and looks around them. There's a car not too far in the distance, and Jim suddenly realizes that he hadn't seen them earlier. Where had they come from?

 

"We got here just a moment ago," the small man says, in a British accent that sounds friendly but snotty. "Just in time to see you pull that stunt. I'm just glad we happened to be on this side instead of the other one."

 

The second man contemplates the distance between the other cliff and shrugs. "I would've been able to pull him back. It's not like he's a submarine."

 

"No, he certainly isn't."

 

"Wait, what?" Jim can't follow the conversation, and his fingers rub at his neck. He's sure if he looks down, he'd find an imprint from the chain of his dad's dog tags on his skin, and fixes them both with a curious look. "And how exactly did you do that, anyway?"

 

"Introductions first," the second man says, and comes forward to offer his hand. "I'm Charles Xavier, and the man who saved your neck – and the rest of your anatomy, actually – is Erik Lensherr. We've been looking for you, James Kirk."

 

"It's Jim," he corrects. "The only people who use James are my mom and my teachers when I'm in trouble." That makes him pause, and he looks at the two of them suspiciously. "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

 

"You would've been if we'd not been here," Lensherr says.

 

"I'm curious to understand what you were attempting," Xavier interrupts.

 

There's something about these two that compels Jim to share a secret that only Sam knows. "I can run really fast. I wanted to see if I could jump far, too. Not far enough, but I think if I practice some more, maybe I could get better at that."

 

"You might want to consider something less damaging than a fifty meter drop," Lensherr tells him.

 

"I might if you tell me how you got me all the way across," Jim says, and he crosses his arms over his chest. He's seen Grandpa Tiberius do it before, and it seems to get results.

 

"We all have certain talents," Lensherr says. "Yours seems to be speed combined with a spectacular lack of judgement. You heard my dear friend Charles earlier in your head, because he's a telepath. I, on the other hand, simply needed to guide you across by pulling on the metal on your person."

 

"What, like a magnet?" Jim asks.

 

"Exactly as a magnet," Lensherr says.

 

This is the first time Jim's even heard of someone else with special talents outside of the comic books, and he's in awe. He loves those fictional heroes – especially the Fantastic Four, since he and Sam have every issue so far – but it's like everyone but Superman got their powers from some kind of force of nature. Jim doesn't know what caused him to run so far, but when he tries to imagine himself in the role of a vigilante for justice, it doesn't sound like something he'd like to be. These two certainly don't resemble anyone from the comics, but maybe that makes them more real. He looks at the two men with wide eyes, fingering his dog tags through his shirt, and eyes them both. "So why are you here?"

 

There's something about Xavier's expression. He's frowning slightly, and something about him draws Jim up to his full height, even if it barely comes to the man's shoulder. He feels like a puppy in the window, and somehow he thinks he's coming up lacking.

 

Xavier's mouth eases into a smile. "Oh, it isn't that you're lacking, Jim. How old are you?"

 

"Fourteen," Jim says, even though he's barely hit puberty and all the other kids are already towering over him. He knows he looks younger, but it's the curse of the Kirk gene or so Sam used to bewail when he was younger. "But I'm smart and I learn really fast."

 

Lensherr doesn't look convinced. "He's a little young for what we're considering."

 

"Perhaps," Xavier agrees, "but those are only immediate needs. Perhaps something later. He has the ambition to learn."

 

Jim hates it when people talk about him when he's standing there, and he steps forward. "Learn what?"

 

This time, Xavier's smile is open. "To learn exactly what you can do with your mutation."

 

"Yes!" The answer bursts from his lips before he's conscious of speaking, and the promise is a thrill that even the idea of leaping over the chasm can't surpass. "How can I do that? Where?" He imagines packing his bags, and a moment later, the eagerness ebbs when he realizes that leaving means that Sam won't be going. That, more than the idea of leaving Iowa behind, frightens him, and he looks at the two men with the first hint of misgivings. "But I can't leave without my brother."

 

"This isn't something you need to worry about yet," Xavier says calmly, but with a tone that says he's thinking about possibilities. "Sadly, I don't have a place in mind where that can happen, or else I'd extend the invitation. However, it's a pleasure to have met with you, Jim Kirk, and I expect to touch base with you again."

 

"Promise?" Jim asks.

 

Xavier extends his hand, and the two of them shake. "Just stay out of trouble in the meantime."

 

"And that includes avoiding bottomless pits," Lensherr says.

 

"Sure." Jim grins in reply, but then it sinks in that he's stuck on the wrong side of the chasm. He squirms for a moment, looking across, and puts on the expression that works when he needs to sweet talk something out of adults. "Um, would you mind...?"

 

The taller man's expression is something between exasperation and fondness, and before Jim can utter another word, he raises his hand. Jim feels the same invisible force that held him upright before, and then he's floating back in the air toward the other side. It's not terrifying, and Jim knows he's not going to fall.

 

When he's dropped on the other side, Jim waves, and then takes off at a giddy pace.

 

For the first time in a long time, there's something to look forward to.

 

_~~~_

 

_**Mississippi, 1963** _

 

Leonard is the last student in the anatomy lab when he decides that it's finally time to call it a day. His eyes are feeling gritty, and he's come to realize there's a tense ache between his scapulae. He pulls his chair back from the counter, and tries to stretch out the tired muscles. The movement feels good, but it's not going to fix the problem.

 

A good night's sleep, maybe, and Leonard lets himself laugh quietly about that. No much chance of that happening.

 

He packs his bag, and glances up at the clock for the first time in a while. He'd meant to leave around four o'clock, but he'd needed the extra time to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding the assignment. He still wasn't sure, but now the time was pushing seven o'clock and he was running late.

 

He stops at a small diner on the way to the parking lot, and buys the cheapest sandwich possible. It's not much than bread, butter and a little bit of cheese, but it's enough to get him through the drive home without having to worry about his blood sugar plummeting.

 

There's a small television poised above the counter that makes Leonard pause, and he takes a bit of his sandwich, realizing it's a news broadcast. He listens for a few moments, wondering what the fuss is about, when he realizes they're talking about a church bombing in Alabama where black four girls were killed. He feels sick to his stomach all of a sudden, and wraps the rest of his sandwich up to slip it into his bag.

 

"It's a shame," a man at the counter says, shaking his head in dismay.

 

His companion tsks in reply, and shrugs broad shoulders. "Brought it on themselves by not knowing their place."

 

Leonard is turning around, and speaking before he realizes what he's doing. "You think bombing children is something you can justify?"

 

"Well, no," the man says, quickly back-pedalling and trying to look contrite, "but the whole thing wouldn't be happening if people just realized how society works and toed the line."

 

"If people did that," Leonard retorts, "we'd still be in medieval Europe dying from the Black Death, or even possibly still living in caves and talking in grunts. Progress isn't just for white folks to enjoy, and we shouldn't be stopping other people from bettering themselves."

 

He doesn't stay long enough to hear the reply, and maybe that's a good thing.

 

The world is changing around him, in fits and spurts that Leonard's almost too busy to notice thanks to the way medical school is preoccupying his life. He doesn't mind the sacrifice, because he's thriving under the pressure of his labs and classes. It's everything he wants it to be, and just as he'd hoped, the knowledge he's gaining as a future doctor is a perfect complement for his already innate talents. He's known for a while there's a limit to what he can do with his mutation – as much as he'd wanted to help his father, he couldn't cure cancer with his bare hands – so knowing how to supplement with actual medical knowledge is an empowering feeling.

 

He's also exhausted, and it doesn't help that there's a four-month-old baby at home. He barely sleeps, but having Joanna in his life is something he wouldn't change for the world.

 

Joanna was conceived just after the Cuban Missile Crisis, when he and Jocelyn fumbled together in a drunken celebration that the world wasn't going to end in a nuclear holocaust. All precautions gone to the wind, and he doesn't regret that they eloped the week before Thanksgiving. They'd driven down to Baton Rouge for the weekend, and somewhere along the road they'd run out of gas. Leonard remembers pulling over and holding Jocelyn while they waited for help, as the two of them whispered their hopes for the future.

 

Although neither sets of grandparents were particularly pleased about the circumstances, no one is too upset when Joanna Mildred emerged in mid-June. She's a round bundle of perfection, and for the first time in Leonard's life, he really feels like an adult. It's a little scary, but this is the bed that he's made. He has to accept the responsibility of his own actions, and he's ready to do that.

 

They're still living in the tiny apartment that Leonard moved into when Jocelyn first got pregnant. He trudges up the three flights of stairs, anticipating a quick supper, a visit with Joanna if she's awake and hopefully a few hours of studying before passing out next to Jocelyn. It's a routine, it's not perfect, but somehow they're managing.

 

Tonight, though, something's wrong. He's already on edge from the news broadcast, but something else is up. The nursery door is closed, which he already anticipated, but Jocelyn is waiting for him at the kitchen table. The apartment is its usual mix of chaos and order that's expected of two grad students and a baby, and yet Jocelyn is the calm eye of tension that sets Leonard's alarms off.

 

"How was your day?" he begins, and leans in for a kiss. She doesn't pull away, but there's something going on because she really isn't responding.

 

"Dinner's in the oven," she says.

 

He mumbles his thanks as he gets the food, and there's a few moments of quiet as he scarfs everything down. He's so tired he doesn't think he knows how to taste food anymore, and besides, he can't stop watching Jocelyn. She's taken to wearing her light brown hair up in a kind of bun, and today she's wearing one of his shirts that hangs on her. Her eyes are shadowed by the overhead lamp, and he can't quite decide what he's seeing in that almost washed-out blue.

 

"What's on your mind?" he finally says, pushing away the plate and leaning in to grasp her hands. He notices that there's a fresh burn on the fleshy inside of her arm, and he wants to soothe away the red and angry mark from her pale skin. He resists for the moment, figuring there'll be time later. Her hands feel chill in his, and finally she squeezes back. So it isn't him, whatever it is.

 

"I think there might be something wrong with Joanna," she finally says.

 

Leonard thinks he feels his heart might've skipped a few beats, and he leans closer. "What is it?"

 

"I just noticed it today," she says, a little haltingly, and he has to keep himself from trying to encourage her. That would just interrupt her train of thought, and he bites his tongue. "I know that babies' eyes change colour, and I was expecting it to happen at some point since my eyes are blue and yours are hazel, but..."

 

"But what?" Leonard encourages. Joanna's eyes were a muddied kind of blue that reminds Leonard of summer nights at the beach when he was younger. It's possible her eyes might stay blue, just like her Mama and Papaw McCoy, but he suspects they're going to change.

 

Jocelyn draws in a breath, and looks at him. "Leonard, her eyes are yellow."

 

"What?" He has no idea how he looks, probably his eyebrows are up to his hairline and his mouth is hanging open, but he's certain that he's misheard what she's just said. "Did you just say that her eyes are yellow?"

 

She nods. "Like a mustard yellow. I noticed them when I got her up from her morning nap."

 

"And she's otherwise all right?" he asks.

 

"Yeah, I think," she says, "but isn't yellow the sign of bad things? Like jaundice?"

 

Leonard blinks for a moment. "Well, she's too old for neonatal jaundice, and even then, it would be the whites of her eyes that get the yellow, not her actual irises. You're saying that they're really yellow?"

 

She gestures to the nursery. "Go look, if you have to."

 

Normally, they'd avoid the sleeping baby as soon as she was out like a light, and tonight feels something like walking into the lion's lair. Leonard pauses to turn on the overhead, and he can see that Joanna's already stirring by the time he's beside the crib. He pauses for a moment, looking at his daughter, and all he can see is perfection. Her nose is wrinkled as she decides whether she's happy, and her dark hair is curled around her head like a halo.

 

Then she opens her eyes.

 

"Wow," Leonard whispers, and at the sound of his voice, those yellow-ish eyes are fixed on him. Her entire face lights up, and she starts babbling to get his attention. Leonard picks her up and holds her close, still not quite believing that there's a tiny human being who's his child. "Hey, baby girl. Sorry to wake you up, sweetpea. Just wanted to see how you're doing."

 

Joanna sounds a little cranky despite her smiles, and he quickly checks her diaper. It's dry so he glances at the door where Jocelyn is hovering.

 

"Maybe fix her a bottle?" he suggests.

 

As soon as his wife leaves, Leonard presses a kiss to the top of Joanna's head, and then brings her to the changing table. He listens to her babbles, at the syllables she's learning how to make, and as she grasps hold of his index finger, he does his best to judge how she's doing. It's not been long since the unit on pediatrics, and visually, everything he sees is what it should be.

 

Everything except for the eyes.

 

"Sorry, sweetpea," he says to her, as she tries to direct his finger to her mouth. He smiles, and picks her up again. She's squirming, and so he gives her his finger again to gnaw on as he goes to see how Jocelyn's making out. "She seems fine to me."

 

"But what about her eyes?" Jocelyn demands, standing by the stove and waiting for the water to boil.

 

"Well, they're a bit unusual," he admits.

 

"So what does it mean?" she asks.

 

"I don't know." He pauses. "Exactly."

 

She fixes him with a look, her eyes a little narrowed. "What do you mean, exactly?"

 

"Well," he begins, "there's research that shows that our human genomes are slowly changing."

 

"English," she says, and points the closest wooden spoon at her. There's a tiny twinkle in her eye, but it's drowning in the worry that's she's visibly feeling. "I'm a law student, damn it, not a medical hack."

 

Leonard can't help the chuckle at the way she mangles his catch phrase, and Joanna picks up on that. She giggles around his finger, and looks up at him with those eyes of hers, and Leonard hopes for her sake that he can find the best way to explain this.

 

"Fine," he says, and shifts Joanna in his arms. "We haven't stopped evolving, and sometimes new variations appear in the newest generation. For the most part, we've been seeing micro-evolutions. People getting taller, skin tones changing for the environment they're in over generations. But sometimes we see macro-evolutions."

 

"Evolution," she begins, and given their background, it's a somewhat twitchy topic. Jocelyn looks at their baby, her face twisted with worry. "Or maybe it's something I did wrong. What if it's something that I did or drank while I was pregnant, Leonard? Did I damage her?"

 

"Of course you didn't," he says, and looks away, because now he had to tell the truth. "No more than my mama did with me, anyway."

 

There's silence in the kitchen, except for the sound of the stove and the noises coming from the other apartments. Even Joanna is still, suddenly aware of the tension in the room, and she looks from one parent to the other with an awareness that something's about to erupt.

 

"I beg your pardon?" Jocelyn finally asks.

 

"I said," Leonard repeats, "that you haven't done anything wrong."

 

"Just like your own mama did with you," she finishes.

 

Leonard nods.

 

"And what, pray tell, does that mean?" Her words are clipped, precise.

 

"I might not have yellow eyes," he says finally, very carefully, "but I have certain, uh, talents that most people don't have."

 

"Talents," she repeats. "I assume you don't mean your charming personality or your inability to leave the toilet closed after you've used it."

 

"No, not like those," he says, and for a moment, he appreciates the humour that she's used. "There are visible and invisible mutations, Jocelyn. Mine is invisible, and Joanna's is obviously visible."

 

"So what is yours?" she asks, and finally the bottle is ready. Jocelyn approaches them, wiping the milk she's tested from her wrist, and then suddenly she's faltered. Leonard reaches for the bottle, and gives it to a greedy Joanna who immediately tries to grasp it with determined but still clumsy hands. There's a strange look on Jocelyn's face as she watches them, a mix of emotions. "Well?"

 

Leonard keeps his gaze on Joanna. "I can heal people."

 

"You're a doctor," Jocelyn says, and now she's exasperated. "Of course you heal people! Goddamn it, Leonard Horatio McCoy, I'm losing my patience with you."

 

The use of the middle name makes him wince, and so with Joanna occupied in one arm, Leonard reaches for his wife's hand. "How did you burn yourself, by the way?"

 

"What?" She's confused by the change of topic, and she glances down at her arm again. Her forehead wrinkles as she looks back at him. "I burned myself on the side of the oven, why?"

 

Like that night nearly two years ago, Leonard puts his hand over the mark. He doesn't even have to concentrate now, and he knows from the feel of the skin beneath him that the mark is gone. He lifts his hand a few moments later, and waits for her to react.

 

"Why didn't you tell me before?" she asks, her fingers smoothing over the new skin. She isn't meeting his gaze, and that has him worried.

 

He doesn't have a good answer for that, and shifts slightly. Joanna's busy with her bottle and isn't paying them any attention again, though she does give him the occasional glance with those eyes of hers. "I'm sorry. I know I should have, but I just... I figured it would've come up sometime."

 

"Oh, but it has," she says.

 

Leonard feels like he's grown roots into the floor. He's sure he couldn't move if he tried. "Jocelyn, sweetheart..."

 

She holds up a hand. "I'm going to bed now, Leonard, and after you finish with the baby tonight, you'll be sleeping on the sofa. Are we understood?"

 

"Yes," Leonard says, and there's a rock in his gut. He finds he has to keep talking, to try to make his point before the proverbial door closes in his face. "We're not the only ones, you know. There are other people with talents that are trying to keep a low profile, too."

 

Jocelyn smiles, and she looks sad. "I'm not angry at you because you're a goddamn mutant, Leonard."

 

That makes him pause. "No?"

 

"No," she says. "I'm angry at you because you're a thoughtless asshole sometimes."

 

She gives the baby a kiss on the cheek, and before heading out, she gives him another look that has him silent and still until he can hear their bedroom door close. It opens a moment later, and by the thump he hears, he assumes that's his pyjamas and possibly one or two textbooks being deposited into the hallway. At least the door isn't slamming, and he lets out a soul-weary sigh as he looks down at Joanna.

 

"And that, sweetpea, is why we need open communication," he says.

 

She burps instead.

 

~~~

 

_**Iowa, 1963** _

 

The rest of the country is reeling from President Kennedy's assassination when Jim's world falls apart.

 

He finds the letter in the mailbox, and the official looking stamps and letterhead have him worried. He sits at the kitchen table, waiting until early evening for Sam to come home from work. Dinner isn't made, and Mom won't be coming home until later.

 

Sam comes in sometime around six, and he dumps his bag near the door. At twenty, he looks a lot like the images of their dad that are hanging around the house; standing feet above Jim's still scrawny fifteen year old self, his brother is the hero in his life.

 

"Hey, kid," Sam says, and surveys the empty kitchen. "What's going on?"

 

Wordlessly, Jim looks at the letter on the table. He has his arms wrapped around himself, the anxiety he's feeling keeping him silent. The letter has so much power, and he knows what it's going to do. It'll rip Sam away from him, and there's nothing that Jim can do – even with the powers that only Sam knows about.

 

Frowning, Sam takes a step toward the table, and then stops. He shakes his head, and then puts his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Come on, let's get some supper made."

 

They work together to pull a meal that would pass muster, and they ignore the kitchen table in favour of the living room. They've had a television for a few years, and the flickering black-and-white image is enough to distract Jim from the impending news in the other room. The distraction doesn't last, especially when he realizes that Bonanza is on; Jim always related to Little Joe, especially since they both had older brothers.

 

When the theme song finishes at the end of the hour, Jim draws up his knees. "So?"

 

"Dessert?" Sam suggests.

 

Normally that would've been enough to derail the conversation again, but this time, Jim isn't willing to let it happen. "Sam, I'm not six anymore. I want to know what it says."

 

Sam's smile is bittersweet. "I know you're not. Help me with the dishes, and then I'll open it. Who knows, maybe it's not what you think it is."

 

"Percy Robertson's brother got one a month ago," Jim says.

 

"A draft notice?" Sam asks.

 

"Yeah. He showed it to be when I went over to his place."

 

Sam nods. "And it's just like this one?"

 

"Yeah," Jim says, quietly.

 

"Well, right now it doesn't mean anything," Sam says. "I could just be going somewhere interesting for eighteen months like Elvis did. You remember that?"

 

"Yeah, but he's famous," Jim tells him. "You're my big brother, and you sing like shit."

 

Sam's hand smacks him softly behind the back of his head, and then ruffles his hair. "Don't swear like that. You know Mom doesn't like it."

 

"And Mom doesn't like war," Jim points out.

 

"No one sane likes war, kiddo," Sam says. "Dad went because he was drafted the first time, and then he volunteered for Korea because he felt he had to."

 

Jim fingers the dog tags he's worn since he first found them when going through his mom's drawers looking for birthday presents. "So this means you might not fight."

 

"I might spend my time scrubbing the latrines," Sam agrees.

 

"Or scrubbing potatoes," Jim says.

 

"There's always that." Sam heads for the freezer to pull out the ice cream, and then goes for the dishes their mom keeps in the cupboard near the sink. "So are we okay, Jimmy?"

 

It's far from okay, but Jim swallows his fears and tries to smile. "Yeah, of course."

 

When their mom finally gets home, she predictably cries and holds Sam too tightly. He shares a look with Jim over her shoulder, patting her gently on the shoulder and promising that he'll be careful and that everything will be fine. The comforting words might work in other families, but not theirs. Jim stands there, awkwardly, and knows somehow that things have changed.

 

The morning of Sam's departure comes too soon, and Jim and their mom go off to see him on the bus. They're in front of the general store, with another half dozen boys and their families waiting with them. Sam's got the straightest shoulders of the entire crew, and there's a sense of resolution about him as they mill around. Jim finds himself emulating Sam's stance, and he feels his cheeks blush a bit when he's tugged against his brother in a fond embrace.

 

"Take care of Mom," Sam orders in a hushed voice.

 

"I will."

 

There's another goodbye as their mom pulls Sam close one more time, and then she's grasping Jim's hand as they watch him board. The bus finally pulls away half an hour later, taking Sam away from them. Jim stands, a hollow building in his chest, and his mom finally heaves a sigh.

 

"Let's go home," she says.

 

"Go ahead," Jim tells her. "I'll find my way home later."

 

The second she's left, Jim walks until he's out of sight of the store, in the fields just behind, and then starts running. He catches up soon enough to the bus, and keeps pace as it makes its milk run through the small towns. He doesn't think he's noticed, until one stop where most of the groups has gone into the little diner attached to the store, and Jim creeps up. He's hungry despite himself, and he's about to peer into the window to see what Sam's doing when suddenly there's a hand closing on his shoulder.

 

"Come with me," Sam says, hanging on as Jim nearly jumps a mile in surprise. "You look like you can use a sandwich."

 

There's a picnic table in view of the bus, and they head over there. Sam hands over half of his ham sandwich, which Jim eats in three quick bites. It's an uneasy silence, and Jim finds himself looking around everywhere but at his brother.

 

"You need to go back," Sam tells him.

 

Jim crosses his arms tightly across his chest, wanting to argue, and knowing that there was no point to it. "I know, but I just..."

 

Sam slings an arm around him. "I appreciate this, kiddo. Look, we can make arrangements to visit, maybe. I'll get leave, and you can run your little heart out and come visit me. Providing I'm actually in the continent US, that is."

 

"Promise?" Jim hates how young he sounds, but he can't help it.

 

"Cross my heart," Sam promises.

 

~~~

 

_**Mississippi, 1964** _

 

Jocelyn comes home from a night spent in her mama's company, and once she takes off her jacket, it takes a very long moment to calm down. She knows she's from a long line of opinionated women, but Laura Darnell is insufferable when she thinks she knows best.  
  
The lights are off, which means it's been an early night. Jocelyn tiptoes through the house, avoiding discarded toys and random textbooks, and checks in on her baby. Joanna's fast asleep, lying on her tummy, and she's kicked off the blanket.  
  
"Silly girl," Jocelyn murmurs, and tucks her back in. Joanna barely stirs, and snuffles in her sleep. Not for the first time, she wonders what her daughter is dreaming about, and despite herself, she flashes back to the conversation she'd had with her mother.

 

Just as quickly, she shoves the thought away as she smooths back Joanna's curls one more time before heading out of the nursery. Once the door shuts behind her, she sees light from the bedroom lamp spilling into the doorway. Jocelyn lets out a breath of relief, and smiles in anticipation of sympathetic company.

 

She's stepped foot in the room when she laughs. Leonard is already asleep, and he's on his belly -- his favourite way to sleep -- with his dark hair tousled over his forehead. He's almost mirroring how Joanna's asleep, and Jocelyn appreciates the humour in the parallel. There's a book discarded near the head of the bed, one of his medical texts, and Jocelyn reaches across to grasp it, setting it on the bedside table.

 

From the dark circles that are becoming ever-present under her husband's eyes, she knows she should let him sleep. Despite being at med school, he's pulling his weight by helping take care of Joanna when he can, and he's getting weary. Normally, she'd just curl up beside him and turn out the light, but after her evening, she needs to talk. She slips her hand under the hem of his shirt, gently caressing sleep-warm skin and waits for Leonard to stir.

 

He finally does a few long moments later, his brows creasing. His voice is slurred and half-muffled by the pillow. "Wha' time is it?"  
  
"Late," she murmurs. "Did you two have a good evening?"  
  
"We had a great time," he says, shifting more onto his side so he can see her. He still looks rumpled, and she loves the look. "Supper, bath, and then a reading of her favourite anatomy texts. Though I'm getting concerned. Our daughter loves broccoli. What kind of child loves broccoli?"  
  
Jocelyn laughs, and leans in for a kiss. "Well, there are worse things in life."  
  
Like the visible omen of her citrine eyes, but she doesn't say it. She tries not to think about it unless she has to, like when she's in her mother's company.  
  
Despite his sleepiness, Leonard picks up on her mood, his brows furrowing further. "How about you? How's mother dearest?"

 

"The usual," she says, and leans in for a comforting kiss. Leonard seems to have forgotten to shave today, and she gets an uncomfortable rasp of beard-burn, but he soothes that away with his touch. She sighs and leans against him over the sheets. "I tried to stay in neutral ground, really, but there's only so long we can talk about the weather. First it went to politics, and she went on about why Johnson's policies, and Kennedy's too, for that matter, are going to put this country on the road to ruin."  
  


"Lord help us," Leonard mutters and puts an arm around her. "What else?"  
  
By the way he's tensing, Jocelyn knows he's got a fairly good inkling about how the conversation veered off into dangerous territory. "And then we started talking about children again."

 

"Oh, really." It isn't a question, and she knows that Leonard harbours a resentment toward her mother. She can't blame him for it, because she shares every part of it. "And what wonderful words of wisdom did she have to share tonight?"  
  


Jocelyn doesn't answer right away, because the familiar hurt that she's lived with for the last two years is right at the surface. While her parents hadn't been happy with their quick marriage, she'd expected them to at least love their granddaughter when Joanna came along so quickly. At first, it was a cool appreciation, but then when her eyes changed, so did her parents' attitude. They held themselves back, and limited their visits to holidays. Their reaction was a far cry from the love and affection that Leonard's mother bestows on Joanna, but it still wounded Jocelyn deeply to have her parents so cold and distant.  
  


She can't share the news until she feels Leonard's fingers playing with the soft hairs at the back of her neck, and it makes her shiver for a moment. Somehow, the words make it past her lips. "She doesn't want us to have another child."  
  
Leonard's entire body stills. "Why?"  
  
"She basically said that a second child will come out looking worse," she says, her voice catching on the words.  
  
For several moments, she doesn't know how he's going to react, and he finally pushes away to sit up in bed. The sheet pools down around his waist, and he crosses his arms across his chest. "What the fuck?"

 

She sits up to face him. "That's what she said."  
  
"Whether or not we have a second child is our own goddamn business," he fumes. "If she bothered spending time with Joanna, she'd know that she's a perfectly normal child."

 

"That's what I tried to explain to her," Jocelyn says, "and here's the best part. She thinks it's your fault. There's nothing in our family that could possibly be responsible for Joanna to look the way she does, or so she believes. She thinks your dad was exposed to something while he was in the Air Force that caused this."  
  
Leonard's face wavers between incredulity and irritation. "Really?"  
  
"She's been thinking about this for a while, apparently," she says.

 

"Well, she can stop worrying her pretty little head over it," Leonard says. "While Dad was a military surgeon during the war, he was nowhere near Japan after the bomb went off. Hell, I was born in 1941, for crying out loud."

 

"That's what I told her," Jocelyn tells him, "but what Mama's more worried about is how he was sent overseas into combat zones. She's positive that he got one of those experimental inoculations that they were giving out back then. She swears she knows someone else who got one, or someone who knows someone who got one, and weird things happened to their kids."

 

Leonard rolls his eyes, and then reaches out to take her hand. She's tugged toward him, and she doesn't mind, leaning against his side. "I'm beginning to think your mother would be far less scandalized to learn that I don't have a completely Confederate pedigree."

 

"No, she probably wouldn't," Jocelyn admits. That much she knows about, and to be honest, it would only add ammunition to why her mother thought they were a bad match. "And she's not finding that out, either. I have enough to worry about without more fuel to the fire."

 

"Don't worry, I'm not about to volunteer any information," he says, and hides a yawn. "Your mother is an awful gossip."

 

"You're just realizing this now?" she asks, and then she chuckles. "You'll love this. So I tried to explain to her how change can happen in the genes, and I even threatened to read to her from that thesis you had sent over from England. The one about mutations by that Xavier fellow you met that one time."

 

She's heard the story a few times, about the two men who came to her Leonard about his own mutation. She knows it happened the night she met him, and she has vague recollections about them. It might be the English accent she remembers, or the angled cheekbones of the other man. Either way, her words draw a big grin from her husband.

 

"You are delightfully evil," he says, and tilts her face up for a kiss. It's chaste, given the hour, but she doesn't mind. "Can I be in the room if you ever do?"

 

"Front row seats," she promises. "I'll even make sweet tea and cobbler for the occasion." The fondness fades as she lets herself think about the situation again. "The problem is, she's going to think it's a one-time thing. It's something wrong with you, not something bigger. Evolution's a no-no in her books, even if her own granddaughter is proof that we're on the verge of something new."

 

"I'm not asking her to accept everything Charles Darwin had to say," Leonard counters. "I'm not even asking her to change her beliefs, or to compromise them. I just want her to accept her granddaughter for who she is."

 

"At least she has your mother," Jocelyn says. "The problem is that I just can't break it off with my mother. I mean, I could, but... well, family's important. The problem is, she's hit a nerve, Leonard. I know we've talked every once in a while about having another child, but I'm still nervous about it."

 

Leonard watches her for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. "What's there to be nervous about?"

 

"People stare when we're out," she says, because it's true. At first glance, people smile at the dark-haired baby with the plump cheeks, but then there's the double-take that happens once they realize the colour of Joanna's eyes. "Surely you've noticed that?"

 

She feels him tense beneath her. "Of course I have. So what? Our daughter has eyes that are an unusual colour. That's it. She's a perfectly normal two year old in every other way. She's personable, intelligent, and loveable. That's all people need to know, and if they can't handle that, they're not worth knowing."

 

Jocelyn sighs, because she's seen him get defensive when people stare too much. She loves him for it, but then again, she knows that he can't always be there. She puts his hand on his chest, over his heart, and soothes the warm skin. "We know that, sweetheart, but we live in a society that isn't exactly accepting of differences, even something as little as a different eye colour."

 

"Things are changing," he says, and he sounds so determined she wants to believe it. He covers her hand with his, and gives her the warm smile that she fell in love with two years ago. "Hell, we're supposed to be on the moon by the end of the decade. If humanity can do that, we can become a better people, too."

 

"I hope you're right." Jocelyn rests her head against his shoulder, and then a question comes to her. "Leonard, when did you learn you could heal?"

 

He glances down at her, and in the lamplight, his eyes are a dark green. That's her favourite shade. "I was about thirteen, or thereabouts. Do you remember me telling you about our old dog, Galen?"

 

"A few times," she says, and there's a favourite picture she has stashed away of a ten-year-old Leonard – all knees and elbows, with his hair falling straight into his eyes, with a giant grin on his round face – with his arms around the dog, who was apparently a bit of Husky, a bit of Labrador, and a bit of everything else. "Your folks had to put him down when you went to college, right?"

 

"That's right," he says, nodding. "Anyway, I was in my parents' yard when Galen came limping up to me. He'd caught his leg on something, and it was a ragged mess of blood and torn flesh. I yelled for my dad, and I was frightened because I loved that dog something fierce. I put my hands on his leg, praying for a miracle, and I got it. I just didn't realize it was much until a bit later. By the time Dad came out, I was the one covered in blood as Galen sat next to me, thumping his tail happily and licking my face. It took Dad about ten minutes to believe that I wasn't hurt."

 

It isn't hard to imagine the scene, and Jocelyn can't help smiling at his words. "So much later than being two."

 

"Until then, I was a perfectly normal kid," Leonard says, and then he's quiet for a moment. "Are you thinking the same thing as me?"

 

"That there might be more to Joanna's mutation?" she says, and from the look on his face, she knows she's right. "Yes, I am. If it's just her eyes, or if there's going to be more."

 

Leonard doesn't answer, and it's a weighed silence over them as Jocelyn lets herself contemplate the possibilities. She finds she really hasn't any idea what further mutations might mean, and a part of it scares her. She doesn't know how she'll parent a child who's so different, and yet, she knows she'll accept Joanna and do everything she can.

 

"I don't know," he finally says.

 

"It doesn't make me a bad mother if I say that it scares me?" she asks, and if she's honest with herself, she's not really expecting an answer.

 

His chuckle is a warm vibration beneath her. "Hardly. It makes you human, Jocelyn, and I'm in the same boat, to be honest. I don't have any idea what to expect either. My particular talent is invisible. Whatever else happens, it make make her even more conspicuous, and yeah, it makes me nervous. So unless that makes me a bad father, too, I think we're doing just fine right now."

 

"For now," she sighs.

 

"Besides," Leonard continues, "on the bright side, we have eleven years – give or take – to get ready for it, and to let our daughter know that no matter what happens, she's the most precious thing in the world. We'll love her no matter what, and if we decide that we want a second child, we'll let them know the exact same thing, mutation or no mutation."

 

Everything sounds so reasonable when he puts it that way, and she decides to let it be. She yawns, and closes her eyes. "Thank you."

 

"Any time," he murmurs, and then she hears him chuckle again. "But you know, as long as we're talking about having a second child, my vote is to hold off for now. Joanna's two. I'd rather we add to the family after we survive that age, just for our own nerves. Not to mention when I finish medical school, too."

 

"Very sensible," she agrees, and pats his side. "I knew there was a reason I married you."

 

Leonard snorts. "Don't get insulting now."

 

"Shh," she says. "Go back to sleep."

 

He heaves an exaggerated sigh, and reaches across to turn off the lamp.

 

~~~

 

_Somewhere in the Midwest, 1964_

 

Jim's immediate future is up in the air, and for the moment, he's not really caring about it.

 

He graduates high school a year earlier than his age group, and while there's a bit of pressure from his mom -- and from Sam, too, in letters -- to get himself into college, he's not in a hurry to get there. He hasn't a clue what he'd like to do in his life, and for the moment, there's a huge world to explore.

 

The problem is, he needs money first.

 

His immediate solution is to borrow money from his mom and buy himself a car. It's nothing fancy, just an old Plymouth that needs a careful hand so it doesn't fall apart. Jim doesn't mind, because he's been playing with engines since he was a little kid. He can coax the machine as much as necessary, and it's not like he'll get stuck in the middle of nowhere if she does break down in the end. If he has to, he can just jog to the nearest service station.

 

True, it might be faster to just run from place to place, but Jim really likes driving. He loves the long haul from point A to point B, and the feel of the car moving around him. The car also gives him an easy place to sleep while he's on the road, and that's nothing to turn his nose up at when he's barely scraping enough money to pay for his gas and meals.

 

He ends up driving until he has the inspiration to stop, and then he scavenges around for work. In the midwest, there's always farmers looking for extra labour, and he's got experience from working for old man McKenzie for the last two summers. Jim's tall and strong, if still a little on the scrawny side, but he can work.

 

At first, he heads north to see what's going in Minnesota, but after a week where he gets as far north as Minneapolis, he decides to change course again. He dips into South Dakota for a few miles, and then he's skirting the western edge of Iowa until he's in Nebraska. He finds work with a few farmers, and soon enough he's travelling again until he ends up in Kansas.

 

He's driving on the 73 a few miles from Leavenworth when the car breaks down again. Until the previous times, there's something about the noises the engine makes that doesn't sound good, and as Jim eases her onto the shoulder, he knows this might be work work than he can handle.

 

"Great," he mutters to himself, putting on the hazard lights, and gets out to pop the hood. He looks around for a moment, just to orient himself. He's in the middle of nowhere, with fields on either side with no one in sight. He focuses on the engine, waving away the steam and trying to get a sense of what had gone wrong. "Come on, girl, don't break down on me now. I don't know if I can afford to fix you if you're broken, okay?"

 

Despite crossing his fingers, it doesn't look good. It's hard to say exactly what's going on, and Jim gets the sense that this something he doesn't have the knowledge to handle. He sighs, and lowers the hood so he can go back and fetch the map. If he's going to zoom ahead, he needs to know the lay of the land.

 

He sits in the driver's seat, his feet on the ground, and plans his route when he suddenly hears a crunch of gravel near the car. His pulse quickens, because he was sure he was alone, Jim suddenly leaps up and looks around.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Need a hand?" he hears, and he turns toward the back of the car and finally sees the new arrival. There's an Asian kid standing on the side of the room, and he looks non-plussed at Jim's tension.

 

"Where did you come from?" Jim asks.

 

The kid shrugs. "Doesn't matter, but I thought you could use a hand. Where are you heading?"

 

"I think I guess I'm going to Leavenworth," Jim tells him, and frowns. "Why? You want to watch the car while I'm gone?"

 

"Well, I was thinking that _you_ could stay here while _I_ go get the help," the kid says, putting emphasis on the pronouns to show that he'd rather be in the active role. "I mean, I know where I'm going, and you clearly don't."

 

"Is there a place nearby?" Jim asks.

 

"Well, sort of," the kid says.

 

That's a weird answer, and Jim can't help his frown. "What do you mean by that?"

 

"Well, it's nearby for me," comes the reply, still cryptic. "It probably won't be for you."

 

"You'd be surprised," Jim tells him.

 

The kid finally smiles, and apparently Jim's passed some kind of approval because suddenly there's a small hand being thrust toward him. "I'm Hikaru."

 

Jim takes his hand, and introduces himself. "So where exactly am I going?"

 

"The nearest station is about ten miles up the road," Hikaru says, a little slowly. "It'll take a bit for you to walk."

 

"I'll jog," Jim replies.

 

"You sure?" Hikaru looks sceptical. "Because it won't be a bother if I go ahead."

 

There's something about the way he keeps giving Jim room to back out that has Jim interested, and he can't help seeing it as a challenge. Jim feels himself smiling slowly, and he sets his shoulders back. "Well, how does this sound? Let's see who gets there first."

 

Hikaru's smile transforms into a grin, his eyes glinting merrily in the sunlight. "Sure."

 

"Where is it again?" Jim asks, just to make sure, and after Hikaru points in the proper direct – or so he hopes, he counts to three, and they're off.

 

It feels good to run after a few hours in the car, and Jim forces himself a little faster than he'd normally go. His muscles have a wonderful burn, and he finds himself in front of a small, rustic gas station about two minutes later. Jim takes in a deep breath, putting his hands on his knees as he catches his breath, and then there's the kid right in front of him.

 

Hikaru's face is a perplexed frown. "How did you get here first?"

 

"I'm talented," Jim says, aware he's sounding short-breathed.

 

"But no one's faster than me," Hikaru says.

 

"You sure about that?" Jim asks, and considers the kid for a long moment. "What's your talent?"

 

From the expression on his face, it's pretty clear that Hikaru's never shared his particular secret. "I always thought there wasn't anyone else like me, and I've never really tried to draw attention to what I do."

 

He's got Jim's interest. "Which is?"

 

A slow smile crosses Hikaru's face. "I can fly."

 

"Yeah?" It's not hard to be impressed, and if his car wasn't broken down on the side of the road, Jim might consider getting more details. "That's got to be useful."

 

"Gets me out of the house," he says, and then Hikaru edges a little closer. He's interested in Jim, that much is clear, and the cool attitude from earlier is gone. In its place is a youthful excitement that makes him look younger than he probably is. "So what about you? What's your secret?"

 

Jim leans closer so he can share the details in a hushed voice, and he can tell that Hikaru is hanging onto every word. "I can run really fast. So you're telling me that you've never met another mutant?"

 

"Is that what we are?" Hikaru asks, and it's really a revelation for him. For a few moments, Jim's surprised but then he remembers when he found out that he wasn't alone. Xavier and Lensherr had said he was too young, so it's very possible that they never even approached the kid. "I always thought it was just me. I mean, no one else ever talked about being different like this, and it's already hard not being like everyone else already that this was something I didn't mind keeping to myself. I'm different in a way no one else needs to know."

 

"Except me," Jim agrees.

 

"Well, obviously," Hikaru says.

 

The kid hangs around while Jim negotiates the details for getting his car towed back, and it's not going to cost an arm and a leg. Jim even manages to barter it down by offering to work around the shop for a few weeks. The owner, a happy go-lucky Scotsman named Scott – how perfect is that? -- quizzes him for a few minutes about the different vehicles around the shop. Apparently Jim passes.

 

"Aye, you'll do," he says, and offers his hand. "Welcome aboard, young Jim."

 

There were worse places to be, and as they wait for Scott to head off to grab his keys, Hikaru glances up at the sun. The air is pretty heavy with humidity, and Jim was beginning to find it oppressive, while the kid seemed unaffected.

 

"Listen," Hikaru says, quietly, "I gotta get home, but I'll come find you here later."

 

"Sure," Jim tells him. "Say, where's your folks?"

 

Hikaru gestures somewhere that seems to be east of them. "I'm in Leavenworth. The base, not the jail, obviously. My dad's military, so we're on the base. Since it's summer, no one really cares where I am so long as I'm not getting in trouble."

 

"And do you get in trouble?" Jim asks.

 

"It's not trouble if you're not getting caught," Hikaru says, grins, and then jogs off.

 

~~~

 

_**Georgia, 1965** _

 

"You're sure that tire swing is still good?"

 

Leonard hides his smile when he spots the spectacular eyeroll his mother sends his way. The fond if exasperated look harkens back to his childhood when Elenora felt he was being particularly contrary or ridiculous, as children sometimes are. What Leonard finds particularly amusing now is how often he's caught himself mirroring that expression, especially when Joanna digs in with another outburst of the terrible twos.

 

Today, however, she's all bright sunshine with her smiles and the way her pigtails bob around her head. She's climbed up Elenora's frame like a particularly agile monkey, hanging onto her grandmother's shoulders and grinning at Leonard. In the mid-morning light, her eyes are a flaming orange.

 

"You're silly, Daddy," she giggles.

 

"Yes, he's a very silly Daddy," Elenora agrees, "but he has the right to be concerned. So yes, the tire swing is still good. I checked the rope myself, thank you very much."

 

"Swing!" Joanna echoes, and she's so excited, she's almost vibrating with anticipation to get outside. "Let's go, Gramma!"

 

"You go on ahead," Elenora says, and manages to untangle herself from Joanna's arms and legs. She sets the toddler on the floor, and reaches out to open the back door. "I'll be out in a moment."

 

She's out the door and down the steps before Elenora finishes the sentence. She watches Joanna for a moment, and shakes her head. "If it weren't for the pigtails, I'd think that's you running around out there."

 

"Well, my hair was long enough that you could've done it if you'd gotten me to sit still long enough," Leonard teases as he collects his items. He's got a few interviews scheduled while he's here, and while Jocelyn couldn't get the time away for the trip to Georgia, he's glad that his mama's more than willing to babysit while he shops around for residencies. Once he's satisfied that he has everything he needs, he takes a deep breath and looks at Elenora. "How do I look?"

 

"Marvellous," she says, coming up to him to adjust the narrow tie and smooth his collar down. She smiles at him, the way she always has, and then she makes a fuss with his goddamn cowlick as if he's a kid all over again. He slaps her away, admittedly a little half-heartedly, and Elenora lets out a wicked chuckle. "You'll do, Lenny. Very professional, and rather groovy."

 

"Groovy?" he drawls, eyebrows going up. "How modern of you, mother dearest."

 

"I can be as current as I damn well want," she says with a laugh. "Now make sure you're here in time for dinner."

 

"Yes, ma'am," he says.

 

"Now," she tells him, and smacks him lightly on the ass, "get going or else you're going to be late."

 

He mumbles about child abuse on his way to the front door, with his mama's laughter following him all the way, and then he's off. The air outside is humid but not overwhelming yet, and despite himself, Leonard is already sweating by the time he parks his car at the first campus. He blames it on the weather instead of his nerves, and heads inside.

 

This is it, he's applying for residencies. He and Jocelyn had discussed the issue several times, whether they wanted to stay in Mississippi or go somewhere else. Joanna's young enough that uprooting her won't be too devastating, and although Jocelyn claims to profess no real preferences about where they end up, she wants them to head to Georgia to the only family who doesn't care that their daughter is a little different.

 

As far as Elenora is concerned, Joanna is sheer perfection... at least when she isn't throwing a tantrum.

 

Knowing his daughter is in good hands, Leonard has to check his reflection in the rearview mirror one more time, if only to make sure his mother didn't ruffle his bangs too much. He's still a little self conscious about his hair, because it's longer than he'd normally prefer. He'd been intent on getting a crewcut before leaving Mississippi, but Jocelyn had vetoed the move by coaxing him into keeping the length.

 

Too late now, and Leonard blows out a nervous breath of hair before pulling out of the driveway.

 

The morning passes by quickly, even though he feels like vomiting throughout most of it. The first interview leaves him feeling lukewarm, and while he'll accept it if there's no other offer, it's not something he's particularly excited about. The third interview at Grady, however, is a completely different story, and he's surprised when he actually recognizes the man sitting across from him.

 

"Philip Boyce," the doctor introduces himself, with a dry, firm handshake. "I met you a few times when you were a child, but that was a long time ago. I served with your dad during the war, and we ended up working here together, too. How are you doing, Leonard? From your marks, I can see you're doing extraordinarily well."

 

"Thank you," Leonard says, feeling a little shy all of a sudden. He hates it when he feels like a kid, even though he's in his mid-twenties by now with a child of his own. There's something about Boyce, though, that doesn't make it seem so bad. "I'm married now, and we've got a baby girl. It's been a challenge balancing everything, but that's what you've got to do in life."

 

"That's right," Boyce says, and then he leans in. "I'm so sorry about your father, though. David was a good man, and I hated what happened to him."

 

Leonard can't help his sigh. "Cancer is a dreadful disease. At least it happened quickly." Those were the platitudes he'd heard when he'd come back from school to find that his father had transformed from a vibrant man into a shell. None of the treatments were working, and even Leonard's talents weren't helping. He'd sit next to his dad at night, and try to will him into healing. "But my mother's still in the old house. She'd love to hear from you, I'm sure."

 

"I may do that, but please send her my best in the meantime," Boyce tells him.

 

It's business for the next few minutes, and even as they converse about medicine, Leonard realizes this is where he wants to be. He loves the sound of the hospital, and from what he can tell of Boyce, this is the man he wants to work with as a mentor.

 

The older man apparently feels the same way, because he smiles widely. "It'll be quite the thing if I get to work with two different McCoys in my professional career. Your daddy was a great doctor in his own way, and while I can tell from your application that you're looking to be a bit different from him, I can tell you're well on your way."

 

Leonard considers that for a moment, and he leans in a bit closer. "What are my chances?"

 

"You didn't hear this from me," Boyce says, "but I'm going to fight to get you in. I think it'll be a mistake to let you go somewhere else, to be honest. If you don't hear from me within the week, check with me anyway."

 

That's better than he ever expected in a million years, and on a whim, using the first pay phone he can find, he cancels the other two interviews in the hope – and expectation – that he'd been at Grady come September. In the meantime, he drives around Atlanta, and considers the places where he and Jocelyn might want to move. Some place nice, not too expensive, and within easy access of the hospital. That way the car would be Jocelyn's to use if she needed it during the day.

 

His suit jacket is off and tossed into the backseat, and he doesn't care what condition his hair is in. He stops once for a quick coffee, and then picks up a treat for Joanna and something for his mama before heading back to the house. Even that's an easy drive from the hospital, but he wouldn't dream of imposing on his mother other than for the first few days or weeks that would be needed to settle in to a new routine.

 

The more he thinks about it, the more eager he gets. By the time he gets back to the house, he can't wait to call Jocelyn to give her the news. It might be a little preemptive to start planning now, but it's too exciting to keep to himself. Besides, she'd want to know how things went anyway.

 

His mother meets him in the front hall, and unlike her good cheer from earlier, he can immediately tell that something's wrong. Leonard feels himself grow chill with worry as he comes to a halt.

 

"Joanna?" he asks immediately.

 

Elenora shakes her head. "She's fine. I put her down for a nap about an hour ago. You need to call Laura immediately."

 

"What? Why?" Leonard finds he can't move, and his dread is deepening. His mother's face is pale, and for a very long moment, he desperately wants her to suddenly smile and promise everything is fine. "Mama, what happened?"

 

"I don't know exactly," she says, her hazel eyes suddenly welling up with tears. "I just know it isn't good. I'll sit with you if you need me, but you need to call her right now."

 

He feels like he's sleepwalking into the kitchen, and he pulls up a chair because he has the feeling he needs to sit. Elenora hovers nearby, but she's trying to give him his space. The time it takes to dial Laura's number feels like a lifetime, and he misdials once so he has to start again. He finally gets the last number in, and after three rings, he hears his mother-in-law's voice over the line. She sounds faint over the static.

 

"Is that you, Leonard?" she asks.

 

"Yeah, I just got back to my mother's," he says, and after a long moment, he realizes he's clutching the receiver in his hands. "What's going on?"

 

"There's been an accident," Laura begins, and her voice catches toward the end. There's the unmistakeable sound of her blowing her nose before she continues. "Jocelyn was out driving today, and I'm not going to mince words. She's dead, Leonard, and I'm laying the blame completely in your lap."

 

The words don't make any sense, and for the moment, he can push aside the blunt implications. "But what happened?"

 

"Does it even matter?" she snaps. "She was doing work that should've been yours, and she's dead because of it. Why aren't you here, Leonard? What could possibly be more important than being here, like a man, in the right place instead of my baby girl?"

 

For the first time, he finds himself speechless in the face of her anger, and can only mumble out questions that disappear like spit in a hurricane. He feels his mother's hand on his shoulder, and he doesn't shrug her away as he finally gets the details he needs about the next few days. The funeral, the burial, it's all out of his hands even though he's Jocelyn's husband.

 

He finds that he's not fighting her, because to be honest, he can't even afford anything right now.

 

By the time he hangs up, he's trembling and there's a hole hurting inside of him that feels sick and wrong. He feels Elenora's arms around him, and he's crying against her shoulder like he's two years old all over again.

 

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, fingers brushing his hair. "I'm awfully sorry, Lenny."

 

When he's run out of tears, it's almost time for Joanna to get up from her nap, and he's in the washroom cleaning his face and trying to put himself back together. He doesn't know what he's going to do next, and though his mama's offered a few helpful suggestions, he's still not sure. It isn't until he's got his arms around his little girl, and has her hoisted up into a piggy back, that he's got the slightest idea about what's going to happen.

 

"What would you think about coming to live here for good, Joanna?" he asks.

 

Her arms are clutching at his shoulders like a little monkey, and he can hear the smile in her voice. "Yeah, Daddy!"

 

"Okay," he says, and focuses on everything he'll need to do to accomplish that.

 

~~~

 

_**Leavenworth County, Kansas, 1965** _

 

Scotty takes out a bottle one day and sets out two glasses.

 

"What's the occasion?" Jim asks, wiping his hands on a rag. It's mid-morning, and there's a lull between cars. He's just finished with a Corvette, trying not to salivate on the bright red surface, and there's a Chevelle being dropped off at 11 o'clock. "My amazing restraint at not stealing that hot rod?"

 

"Well, there's that," Scotty says, grey eyes twinkling. "Good work on that, lad."

 

"So, what's up?" Satisfied that his hands are as clean as they're going to get, Jim slides into the chair across from Scotty's desk, and accepts the shot glass. "I hope there's an actual reason, man, because otherwise there's a problem with breaking out the Scotch well before noon."

 

"It's afternoon somewhere in the world," Scotty says, and then taps his glass against Jim's. "Happy anniversary, lad. You've been here for a year, and you've been a great help around here."

 

Jim accepts the toast for a moment, slightly suspicious. "You're not firing me?"

 

"Bite your tongue," Scotty says after he's downed his shot. "Unless there's something you want to tell me? Doin' naughty things with the fins or the radials? You're a kid, you'll grow out of it, I'm not worried."

 

"Well, in that case." Jim downs his shot, and he still can't help the face he makes. He's had more Scotch in the last twelve months than he's had since he started drinking, and he might be getting a taste for it. "Happy to be here, man."

 

For once in his life, it's not an exaggeration. This is the longest he's been anywhere since he left Iowa, and he finds that he likes his life at the moment. While he doesn't intend to work in the garage for the rest of his life, he's fond of the work. Scotty's a groovy boss, and there's always a variety of vehicles coming in -- everything from old roadsters from the twenties, trucks that are falling apart from overused, muscle cars, and even farm vehicles. Jim's good at all of them, but not as good as Scotty.

 

The man is a miracle worker, and people are coming from as far away as Kansas City to get their cars fixed.

 

The telephone rings, and Scotty's hurrying to the front desk when there's the sound of footsteps from the back. Jim turns and sees Hikaru, who's looking ruffled from the quick flight between his place and the shop.

 

"One day someone's going to see you," Jim greets.

 

"I make sure to angle myself so they'd have to look into the sun," the kid says, and eyes the bottle with a wry smile. "A little early for the booze, isn't it?"

 

"Normally, I'd agree," Jim says, and slips him a quick shot. "Today, though, it's a celebration. A year ago I found myself stranded on the side of the road, and both found a job and made a few friends. I think that's a good reason to have a drink, don't you?"

 

Hikaru tosses back the Scotch and barely winces. "That works for me."

 

"Nice," Jim says, letting out a low whistle at the way the kid handles his liquor. "You know, you're way worse at fourteen than I ever was."

 

"That a fact?" Hikaru gives him a slow smile, and then pulls something out of his pocket. "I've got fake id, man."

 

"But we're in a dry county," Jim says, which is one damn shame about where they are.

 

"Have mutant powers, can travel," Hikaru scoffs. "We can go over to Missouri, I've heard lots of good things about places like Gladstone."

 

"Twist my rubber arm," Jim says, "but you're not going to last for ten minutes, even with the fake id."

 

"And I bet we're not going to be bothered at all," Hikaru retorts, and he sounds so confident that Jim can't help but shake his head. "The winner buys the other a drink."

 

"Right, we get to the next bar so you can be kicked out again in ten minutes," Jim says, but the bet is on.

 

Scotty chooses that moment to come into the back, and he makes a scoffing noise at the conversation. "Ach, no corrupting of minors in my workplace, please! That said, I'm glad you're in, young Sulu, because I've got work for you. You can connive on your own time over lunch. In the meantime, my young apprentice, there's another automobile awaiting your magic touch."

 

Jim rolls his eyes, and exchanges an amused look with Hikaru. The problem with Scotty is that he's all bluster, no bite, and he also over-estimates how long things will take. It's also what makes him such a good boss, at the end of the day, so as Hikaru gets his broom to start sweeping, Jim heads over to the next car to begin his work on the Chevelle.

 

It's a '58 that needs some engine work, and Jim figures out the problem and gets it repaired just in time for lunch. Hikaru's lingering at the back of the shop, and at Scotty's word, they're out the door inside of ten seconds. It's an old habit now, that as soon as they're a few hundred yards from the shop, when they're sure that no one's watching, they begin to race. Today, they're heading into town to grab a quick lunch – Jim's treat – before dashing back.

 

"I'm skipping a grade," Hikaru says while they eat.

 

Jim looks up from his burger, eyebrows raised. "When did you find that out?"

 

"Yesterday." Hikaru grins before taking a big sip of his milkshake. "Means I'll graduate high school a whole year early, and if I take a few summer classes, maybe even a year and a half early."

 

"Congrats," Jim says, because it's well earned. "Then what? College, I guess? You're smart enough."

 

"So are you," Hikaru says.

 

"Yeah, but I'm not a good example," Jim shoots back. "I have no idea what I want to do. Still don't. I'm hoping I'll figure it out."

 

"Well, maybe I need to figure it out, too." When he's stubborn, Hikaru's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. Jim would never tell him, but it's kind of cute. "I'm kind of hoping you might want to stay around until then, so we can go explore together."

 

The idea has merit, but Jim's leery about promising anything. He's also aware of the value of having someone older to rely on, and that Hikaru's the same age he was when Sam was drafted. Jim's been to see Sam a couple of times since arriving in Kansas, and it's still strange to see his older brother in uniform.

 

"Let's see when the time comes," Jim says, and that's the best he can offer right now. He'll stay if he can, and he appreciates the padding that's accumulating in his bank account.

 

"You sound like my dad," Hikaru mutters, but it's without much fire. Jim doesn't know much about the Sulus, other than the few details Hikaru's shared over the last year. George Sulu was a member of the 442nd Infantry Regiment, fighting in Europe even as his wife and two daughters were placed in an internment camp in Arkansas; Hikaru and another sister were born after World War Two. The Sulus were still a military family, and George was now a senior NCO at Leavenworth. "But I keep on thinking about us. What we are. How there must be others like us out there."

 

"There are," Jim says, even though the grand number of mutants he's met is three. He's tried to see where Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr might be, but he hasn't gotten far in his research. "I think a lot of us might be leery about going public about who we might be."

 

"But things are changing," Hikaru argues. "There's the Civil Rights movement, and who knows what else is going to happen because of it. Heck, my dad and his old regimental buddies are talking about how we should demand reparations for what happened during the war."

 

"The times, they are a-changin'," Jim says, quoting the Bob Dylan song with a wide smile. "I like your optimism, Hikaru."

 

"It's the least I can do," he replies.

 

Not for the first time, the conversation has Jim considering everyone he meets. Every single person might be a mutant, like them, and while there's no way of knowing what the numbers might be, Jim wonders. One in ten, or something a lot less? He's heard of ways that other groups, invisible and hidden out of necessity, find ways to recognize each other, but Jim hasn't a clue how that might work for mutants. For the first time, he finds himself envying Lensherr and Xavier for their particular talents. Reading minds and controlling metal are a far cry from running, and while it's something Jim particularly enjoys, it's not really something that gets attention like being tugged across a canyon by the dog tags.

 

He's still thinking about it when he gets back to the shop, and he can tell by the noise that Scotty's already back on the job. Jim leaves Hikaru in the front, and heads into the garage. There's a new car in there, an early Thunderbird – maybe a '55 or '56 – and Jim pauses to admire the car when he suddenly realizes that something is a little off.

 

There a bit of smoke coming from the hood of the car, but when Jim glances around the shop, he can see all the welders and solders that he'd normally use lying on the counters. Walking quietly, he comes around to the front of the Thunderbird, and looks in.

 

Scotty's there, and he's focused on the task at hand. He's got one hand on the side of the engine, his brow furrowed in concentration, as his other hand is held over the engine block. There's something coming from his palm, like a tightly focused beam of energy, and that the source of the smoke Jim had seen earlier.

 

Not wanting to interrupt his work, Jim waited until the faint light from Scotty's palm faded and his boss blinked, like he wasn't quite there while he worked. Jim clears his throat and says, "Now I know why they call you a miracle worker."

 

Despite everything, Scotty bolts upright and narrowly misses clocking his forehead against the hood. His fair skin is flushed a deep red, and he's alternating between anger and embarrassment. "Lad, I didn't hear you comin' in."

 

Emotions make his accent thicker, but Jim can still understand. He's also so very amused given his recent musings. "Sorry about that, but seriously. You've been holding out on me, man. That's a really impressive talent you've got."

 

Whatever Scotty was about to say falters on his lips, and he peers at Jim. "Say what?"

 

"I mean it, I'm a little envious right now." Jim crosses his arms, and he grins. "What were you doing with your hand against the engine?"

 

Scotty's face is still a deep shade of pink. "I, uh, was askin' the car what she was feeling."

 

"And she was answering?" Jim's fascinated.

 

"Aye, they all do." Scotty says, and he shrugs. "Been hearing it since I was twelve, and it's easy, like I'm talking to you or to the laddie. I could use a tool, but I find my own energy is a little less troublesome to use."

 

"That's pretty awesome," Jim says. "All I can do is run pretty fast."

 

That throws the other man for a loop. "What?"

 

"I'm like you," Jim says, and smiles. "Well, not like you, exactly. Same with Hikaru, actually. We're all special, not quite like other people."

 

Scotty's quiet for a few long moments, and his complexion is returning to its usual ruddy colour. "What, are we special?"

 

"Very special," Jim agrees. "We're mutants."

 

His boss still looks hesitant. "That's not exactly a positive sounding word, you know."

 

"It's what we want it to be," Jim says, and quickly recounts the story about meeting Xavier and Lensherr in 1962. Even as he's speaking, he's wondering where Scotty might have been if he hasn't heard of others with similar talents before. "I don't know how many we are, but that's the story, anyway."

 

"I was still in Scotland," Scotty says, and shrugs. "I don't know what they were recruiting for, but I doubt I'd have been that interested. I like what I do, it's my calling. I don't need a fancy life, just the cars and a job well done."

 

"There's nothing wrong with that," Jim tells him.

 

Scotty's quiet for a moment, and then he smiles slowly. "Mutants, are we?"

 

"Mutants," Jim confirms.

 

"And Hikaru, what can he do?" Scotty asks, suddenly looking younger and more curious than his actual age.

 

"He can fly," Jim says, "and I've met a telepath and another one who can manipulate metal. I have no idea what else is out there, but I guess the sky's the limit. It wouldn't surprise me if there were people who could change shape, or who can throw energy."

 

"I'll believe that one," Scotty says, and flexes his hand for a moment. He smiles, pats Jim on the shoulder, and then he smiles as he repeats, "Mutants."

 

"And proud," Jim quips.

 

"Then go back to work," Scotty threatens, but his eyes are twinkling.

 

~~~

 

_**Georgia, 1966** _

 

Despite following every piece of advice he's ever received about how to survive his residency, Leonard is still exhausted. He feels like he's sleepwalking through most of his days, especially when he finally makes it back to his mother's house and tries to have something resembling quality time with Joanna. He feels guilty that he's missing some of the important moments of her childhood, but he has to get through this if he wants to establish his career as a doctor.

 

His mama says nothing to him about it, which eases some of the weight he feels like he's carrying on his shoulders. He's so grateful to have her that he almost doesn't mind living at home. It's not exactly the way he's imagined living his twenties, but he's doing the best he can at being a widowed father of one at the age of twenty-five.

 

If the only quality time he sometimes gets with his daughter is falling asleep while reading her bedtime story to her, then that's better than a kick in the ass.

 

He also misses Jocelyn like sin.

 

One afternoon, he's been on shift for the better part of twenty-four hours, and he's got the sudden urge to get some sunshine on his face. He has a break coming up, and he fully intends to take advantage of the lull in activity to get outside. The weather in Atlanta's been crap lately, and he's longing for some fresh air.

 

"I'm going outside for my break," he tells his supervisor, and the other residents blink at him with owl-eyed expressions that he vaguely recognizes from looking at himself in the mirror. Everyone has the same dark circles under their eyes, and there's a general sense of determined weariness that every medical resident shares.

 

"Don't be late coming back," Dr. Piper says.

 

Leonard promises something vague, but he's already heading outdoors. He doesn't have the time to change from his scrubs, but he doesn't really care as he finally gets out. For the first few minutes, he has to shade his eyes from the overhead glare, but it feels so good to feel real warmth on his skin that he can deal with the discomfort for the time being.

 

He passes groups of patients and staff smoking in the sunshine, and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he goes. He imagines himself absorbing the energy and recharging, and he feels like it might actually be happening; he's starting to feel a little more clear-headed and calmer. He doesn't have a lot of opportunity to use his talent while on shift, but sometimes he applies his healing while he can. Sometimes it's the best he can do, just to ease some discomfort while the patient waits for care.

 

A sudden itchy cheek has him scratching, and he winces at the whiskers on his face. He might head back a few minutes early just to get rid of the worst of his scruff, but he doubts he'll do that because it's so nice. He finds an empty bench and sinks down. His feet are almost always sore, and he flexes his toes inside his shoes as he watches the world for a few moments.

 

He's almost dozing off in the sun when there's a sudden squeal of tires and a crunch of metal. Leonard can't help the physical recoil he feels as he cringes, trying to avoid thinking about what had happened to Jocelyn last year. He pushes those thoughts aside and forces himself to react. He's running before he's even aware of being upright.

 

There's already a crowd gathered around the vehicles, and the pedestrians who were close-by are already trying to help. From a quick scan, Leonard's pretty sure that there aren't any fatalities, and the people who are getting out of the wrecked cars are injured. One woman, bleeding from a scalp wound, is being helped by a young black woman, and led to a nearby bench. Leonard's too far away to hear what they're saying, but from the younger woman's intent expression, she's busy reassuring the injured woman and possibly asking if she's all right.

 

He's about to focus on the former occupants of the other car when the man suddenly surges from the crowd to pull the young woman away with an ugly expression on his face.

 

"Get out of here," the man snaps. "You're not needed."

 

The young woman stands up straight, defying him. "I'm trying to help."

 

"Your help isn't the kind of help that's needed," the man tells her, condescending enough to rankle even Leonard's good sense.

 

"She's got a concussion," the woman says in reply, "and she shouldn't be moved until the ambulance gets here. Unless you're got a first aid certification, or a medical degree, I'll be more than happy to step aside."

 

The man shoves her, and the woman's bag that had been slung over her shoulder falls to the ground, spilling open. Leonard's suddenly between them, facing the man who's turning red in the face.

 

"Back off."

 

He's possibly an inch shorter than the older man, and he probably has fifty pounds of extra weight. Leonard doesn't care, and he draws himself up. The man looks down at him for a moment, taking in the scrubs, and his eyes widen. He's still angry, and backs away.

 

"She was interfering," the man protests.

 

"No, I think that's what you've been doing," Leonard say. "Now get away before I get you charged with interfering with this woman's medical care."

 

He doesn't wait to see if he's obeyed. Leonard turns around, muttering "asshole" under his breath, to find the young woman looking at him with a neutral expression. He quirks an smile at her, and extends his hand.

 

"I'm Dr. McCoy," he says. "Can you tell me what you've noticed so far?"

 

"She's disoriented," she tells him, hovering near him as he does a quick examination. "There's the blow on the head, and her pupils are looking a little off."

 

Leonard nods quickly, and then glances at her. "You studying to be a doctor?"

 

This time, he gets a smile. "No, I've just taken a first aid class or two."

 

"Well, I'd say your diagnosis is pretty bang on," Leonard says, and he notices one of the books nearby that's fallen out of her bag. He reaches for it, and suddenly laughs as he recognizes the title. It's Charles Xavier's latest work on genetics, and he taps the cover with a wry smile. "That's good reading."

 

"You know of him?" she asks with a careful tone.

 

He holds her gaze for an extra moment. "I met him once. You could say that I've got a personal interest in what he's doing."

 

"Me, too," she says, and he wants to ask her more when the ambulance arrives along with the police and fire trucks. The woman is pushed back into the crowd, and then Leonard's surrounded by officials. He identifies himself to them, gives the details of what he's observed about the patient to the EMTs, and then tells the police about the little he knows about the bigger situation.

 

By the time he's provided his personal and work details, he knows it's long past the time he should be back at the hospital. Leonard sighs, and starts the trudge back toward the hospital when he realizes the young woman is suddenly at his side.

 

"My name is Nyota," she says, and suddenly gives him a folded piece of paper. "Listen, I know this is somewhat untoward, but I need to ask a favour of you. Do you do house calls? My boyfriend has particular issues, the kind that Xavier talks about, and he doesn't like going out in public if he doesn't have to. I want him to see a doctor, but, well, he's stubborn."

 

Leonard hesitates, and he's not sure what he should do. He probably should just head home, see his kid, and get some much needed sleep. But there's something about Nyota's expression that appeals to his identity as a healer.

 

"Your address?" he asks, holding up the paper.

 

She nods, a suddenly relieved look on her face.

 

"Okay," Leonard says. "My shift is over in a few hours, so I'll stop by."

 

She flashes him a lovely smile, and then she's gone. Leonard shoves the paper in his breast pocket, and then jogs back to the hospital. By the time he's back on the floor, the grapevine's already spread the word that he was at the accident, so at least that's one strike that won't be held against him. He finishes his shift without further incident, and then he's passing the responsibility to the incoming interns, who are looking annoyingly fresh-faced.

 

The paper almost gets left behind in his scrubs. He remembers it just before he shuts his locker door, but doesn't unfold the paper until he's behind the wheel. The neatly scripted letters and numbers are for an address in a lower-income area of Atlanta, but he doesn't give it much thought as he pulls out of the parking lot.

 

Nyota's out on the porch, watering brightly-coloured flowers as he pulls up to the curb. She waves when she sees him, but then she makes a sudden face. Leonard isn't sure what's the source of the expression until he walks over and sees a darkening patch of skin around her wrist.

 

"What happened?" he asks.

 

She waves him away with a smile. "It's nothing."

 

"Nothing my ass," he says, and holds out his hand. "May I?"

 

There's a pause, and then her gaze flickers to the front door. "Let's go inside."

 

"Fine." Leonard lets her lead the way, and then with the front door safely shut behind them, she shakes her head. "I've got nosey neighbours. Normally I don't care what they think, but sometimes I can't help hearing what they're saying even when they think I'm nowhere close."

 

"Good hearing?" he asks as finally gets a closer look at her wrist. He can feel the heat from the swelling, and he makes a face. "Is this from that jackass who grabbed you?"

 

"Yeah," she says.

 

"I should've smacked him in the face," Leonard mutters, and concentrates on her wrist.

 

"I can defend myself," she says, a little hotly.

 

"You shouldn't have to," he tells her, and then pauses, glancing up at her for a moment. "Um, I know that sounds kind of chauvinist, but it's not meant to be. I mean, the only reason he confronted you was because --"

 

"The colour of my skin," she finishes for him. "I know."

 

"And that shouldn't be," he says flatly. "Sometimes I hate this society. Often times, actually."

 

She smiles again. "Well, if all goes well, that will change pretty soon. Are you done with my wrist yet?"

 

"Give me a moment." Inhaling and holding his breath, Leonard closes his eyes and lets his energy flow. When he's sure that the worst of the swelling is gone, he lets go and gives a nod of satisfaction. "That should help."

 

"It does," Nyota says, wiggling her fingers and smiling suddenly as she realizes her pain is gone. "Thank you, Doctor."

 

He waves the formality away. "Call me Leonard."

 

"All right," she says, and nods. "Well, now that you've shown me yours, I'll tell you about mine. When I hear the neighbours gossiping, I can hear them talking four or five doors down."

 

Leonard can't help the face he makes, and how he's always been glad that he never interacts with his mother's neighbours. "That must be difficult."

 

"You get used to it," she says.

 

There's footsteps in an adjoining room, and a smooth-sounding voice carries over the air. "Nyota, would our guest prefer some tea?"

 

"That would be my boyfriend," Nyota says quietly, and then raises her voice a notch. "That would be lovely, sweetheart. We'll be in the kitchen in a moment."

 

There's a reply that doesn't need answering, and Nyota steps in so only Leonard can hear her. "Listen, he knows why you're here, so you don't need to pretend anything, but please... just act normally. All right?"

 

Not having a clue what she's talking about, Leonard just nods. She seems satisfied, and leads him toward the kitchen. It's a large airy room with windows looking to the back where there's a group of trees shielding the yard from the neighbours. There's a man in the room, his back to them as he rummages in the kitchen, and as he turns around with a pitcher of what looks like sweet tea in hand, Leonard finds himself hesitating.

 

The man looks alien. He's white, but his complexion is sallow, looking almost greenish in the light. He moves closer, and Leonard realizes it's probably the sunlight through the leaves that's giving that tone. He's not imagining the ears, though, that have a distinct pointed tip – more so that anything he's ever seen. The man's eyebrows are also up swept, casting a serious expression to his face.

 

"Do you require ice in your tea?" the man asks.

 

Leonard finds himself nodding. "Just a bit, thanks."

 

"Spock, this is Doctor McCoy," Nyota says.

 

"I had assumed as much," Spock says, and walks across the kitchen to hand Leonard the glass. He's about an inch taller, and despite the apparently severity of his expression, Leonard finds he also has what his mother would call pleasant eyes. "I am to understand that you also share our peculiar attributes?"

 

"I do," Leonard says, and he doesn't know what to do with himself. "Well, not exactly. I have the ability to heal, but my daughter's more like you."

 

Nyota looks startled. "You have a child?"

 

"I know, I don't look old enough," Leonard replies, with a smile that he hopes looks pleasant. "So far she just has unusually coloured eyes. I think she's too young for the rest of her mutation to manifest itself just yet."

 

Spock looks interested. "I have been this way since birth, but my telepathic abilities did not begin until I reached puberty."

 

"Same with me," Leonard says. "So, um, you need a doctor?"

 

"No," Spock says, with a direct look at Nyota. She just stares back with a stubborn set of her jaw. "To be more precise, I am not in need of a doctor at this time. I am however pleased to make your acquaintance, and I will seek your care if I am in need of a physician. I believe the pretence of this meeting was to simply assure me that there are more mutants than ourselves who reside in this city."

 

"Two more, at the very least," Leonard says. "Plus Xavier and that friend of his."

 

"Erik Lensherr," Spock supplies. "I had the opportunity to meet then in 1962, when they visited myself and my parents. I was in the last year of high school, and while I was interested in their proposal for mutants to gather and learn about our talents, I was uncertain about their motivations."

 

Leonard feels his eyebrows go up. "What do you mean?"

 

"I do believe that Dr. Xavier was sincere in his desire to assist me," Spock says, "but I was uncertain about Mr. Lensherr. I sensed distraction from him, and a desire for something dark that I did not wish to investigate further. For that reason, I chose not to depart with them."

 

"You're a telepath, too?" Leonard asks.

 

"Only when I touch another person," Spock tells him, in a tone that sounds oddly reassuring.

 

"I see," Leonard says, and finally takes a sip of tea. It's a cold and refreshing on his palate, and he considers the situation facing him. "Well, if you ever need medical treatment, I work at Grady fairly regularly. If it's not an emergency, you can always call me at home. I can do house calls, I guess."

 

Spock seems touched by the gesture. "That is very kind of you, Doctor."

 

"One more thing," Leonard adds, and he's not sure about this. He's got a good feeling about these people, though, and he finds that he wants to know them better. "I don't know how many people you know in this city, but you're welcome to stop by for dinner. My mama loves cooking for as many mouths as she can feed."

 

Nyota's smiling. "We'll consider the invitation."

 

"Good," Leonard says, and then drains the iced tea. He sets the glass down and nods. "I should get going, but we'll stay in touch."

 

There's a pad of paper nearby, and Leonard quickly leaves his information. He thanks them both for their hospitality, and then makes his way back out to the car. He's home ten minutes later, and walks in just as his mother's beginning Joanna's bedtime routine. Leonard gives them both a quick kiss, slips into the kitchen to grab a quick morsel, and then takes over. He can eat a full meal after Joanna's in bed.

 

"Did you have a good day, Daddy?" Joanna asks between splashes in the water. She blinks at him sleepily, tendrils of wet hair sticking to her face.

 

"A pretty decent one, sweetpea," he says, and the thought that stays in his mind is that they're not alone. Other people like them are out there, and maybe what they need is a community. He finds he likes this idea, and smiles at his daughter. "Let me tell you about the people I met today, okay?"

 

~~~

 

_**Missouri, 1966** _

 

The fire starts around two o'clock in the morning, and by the time Jim shows up for his shift at seven-thirty, the entire auto shop is ablaze. Scotty's standing at a safe distance away, a plaid bathrobe over his pyjamas, and he looks shattered as he watches the firemen battle the flames.

 

"What happened?" Jim asks, coming up beside him.

 

Scotty's grey eyes are bloodshot from the smoke. "Can't say yet. I got a call in the middle of the night, but it's too early to say."

 

There's an ominous sound inside the burning store, and Jim can't help the wince. "We can always start over."

 

"With what?" Scotty's accent sounds heavier than usual, which usually happens when he's drunk or exhausted. "I dinan know what I'll do. This was all I've got. I came to America with a hundred dollars in ma pocket, and built this. It's all gone."

 

Jim puts an arm around his shoulders. "And you'll get it again. The two of us, we're a good team. We can get this up and going all over again."

 

"No," Scotty sighs. "I won't be able to afford this, laddie. Not from scratch all over again."

 

"But it's early," Jim protests.

 

"Too late," Scotty says.

 

A deputy comes up to ask a few questions, and Jim stays close to glean any information he came. Scotty's started to shut down, and when it's clear that he's not able to offer much help, Jim slides in and provides the officer with his home number.

 

"What for?" Scotty asks, frowning.

 

"Because you're coming home with me," Jim says. "That's an order, boss."

 

As soon as he can, he loads Scotty into his car and drives him to the apartment where Jim's been holed up since moving to Missouri. It isn't much, not much more than a bed and a kitchen, but there's also a sofa. Hikaru's crashed on it a few times, and it doesn't take much to throw a pillow and a blanket onto it.

 

"We'll get something figured out," Jim promises as Scotty stands there, looking numb and sooty. "Just get some sleep first."

 

"Got anything to drink first?" Scotty asks.

 

There's a half-empty bottle of Everclear in the kitchen, and it takes a short moment for Jim to locate it and two clean glasses. "Here."

 

"Thanks, lad," Scotty says, and Jim can't help the wince as he takes the bottle and takes two long pulls from it. He smacks his lips for a moment and then pronounces, "That's absolute shite."

 

"Well, it's not like I can afford Scotch on my paycheck," Jim teases.

 

That earns him a wide smile, despite the sadness still lurking in his eyes. "Then I'll have to give you a raise, first thing in the morning."

 

"You do that."

 

Scotty takes another drink, and then hands the bottle back. Despite the temptation, Jim just sets it aside, and watches as Scotty settles himself down on the sofa and pulls the blanket over himself. "You're a good friend, Jim."

 

"Go to sleep," Jim says. "I'm going out to get some breakfast. I'll wake you up if there's news. Otherwise, sleep as long as you need."

 

He leaves the car in front of the apartment, and instead goes for a run. It's faster than going in the car, anyway, and he's just going to the nearest convenience store. He gets some bacon and eggs, and a new loaf of bread since his own is going mouldy. They're all foods that help when Jim's in the dumps, and he figures it'll possibly help Scotty's mood.

 

At the very least, it'll give him the energy he'll need to start addressing the situation.

 

Hikaru's sitting on the front steps when Jim gets back, and his eyes are dark and worried as he squints up in the sun. "I passed the shop on the way here."

 

"Yeah," Jim says, and there's not much to do. He lets Hikaru in, and they trudge up to the apartment where Scotty's still snoring away. It only takes a few moments to shove everything in the fridge, and then they're heading to the balcony where they can talk without interrupting their boss' sleep. "It's pretty shitty all around."

 

"That's one way of putting it." Hikaru looks nervous, and he's drumming his fingers against the railing. "What if he leaves?"

 

"What if he does?" Jim asks.

 

"Well, that's your job," Hikaru says.

 

"It is." They're facing the opposite direction from the store, and Jim finds himself grateful that he can't see the smoke on the horizon. "But I can find other jobs."

 

"If you leave," Hikaru says, and suddenly he's sounding nervous, "I want to come with you."

 

Jim turns at the tone, studying his friend's face for a long moment. "What's going on?"

 

There's silence for a few long moments, which isn't unusual. Jim gives Hikaru the time he needs, and when he finally speaks, his voice is flat. That's what he does when he's upset, and Jim doesn't say anything as he lets Hikaru find the right words. "My parents know about me now."

 

"What happened?" Jim asks.

 

"I got caught," Hikaru sighs. "Usually I'm careful about flying, and only go where I can't be seen by anyone else – you excluded, of course, but I guess I got sloppy. Dad saw me, and the next thing I know, I get home the other night and my folks are waiting for me in the living room. You'd think that I'd crashed the car or something."

 

Jim can only imagine. "So how did it go?"

 

"It could've gone worse," Hikaru says with a bit of a shrug. "Mom's okay with it, and from what my sisters told me after, they are, too. It's my dad, though. All the while Mom was talking, he just sat there with his arms crossed."

 

"Right," Jim says, and it's easy enough to picture the scene. He thinks back to the few times he's met the Sulus, and how George Sulu had sat at the head of the table during dinner. Quiet and formal, and he hadn't opened up until Jim mentioned his own father's military service.

 

"And then he asks me if I'm sure my talent was permanent," Hikaru continues. "Whether this is something I'll always have, or if one day it'll go away as suddenly as it appeared. I tried to tell him that I knew other people who had mutations that were different from mine but were still there years after they appeared, but he wasn't buying it. I think it made him uncomfortable to know that there's other people like me out there, but maybe that's just the military part of him. I swear, he sees pinkos everywhere some days."

 

"Does he think you're going to fall out of the skies one day?" Jim asks.

 

"That's pretty much what he said," Hikaru says.

 

"What does he think you are, a refugee from the Looney Tunes?" Jim teases.

 

"Only if that makes you the Road Runner," Hikaru shoots back with a small smile, but it quickly fades. "He doesn't want me flying, Jim. He said that flat out, and that he doesn't want to catch me using my talents that way. I mean, that's like asking me not to breathe or talk."

 

"What did he say he'd do if you do end up flying?" Jim asks.

 

Hikaru's eyes glint in the morning light. "I don't want to find out. Yeah, a part of me knows he's being a worried parent, and he's army so he doesn't really get the thrill of flying, but I can't be what he wants me to be. You'd think that after everything he went through because he's Nisei, and the war and the camps, that he'd understand what it means to ignore something about yourself, but he doesn't."

 

"He's just a parent worried about his kid," Jim says.

 

"It's smothering," Hikaru retorts.

 

"I wouldn't know," Jim shoots back, and his reaction surprises him. They've talked about his dad before, but this is the first time Jim's ever uttered something about the lack of a real father in his life, especially in comparison to something Hikaru's talked about. "I wish I'd had a dad who's tried to smother me with his concern and love when I was a kid, but I didn't. I mean, yeah, I know it's frustrating, but that means something."

 

Hikaru lets out a frustrated huff of air. "So, what, are you saying that I should stay and just put up with it?"

 

"Well, no," Jim says, feeling at a loss.

 

"Because I won't hide who I am," Hikaru declares.

 

The conversation derails from there, because Jim just doesn't know what to say. For the first time, he's really aware of the four years between them, and what it mean in how they lived their lives. Jim could leave if he wanted, but Hikaru couldn't – not legally, anyway. They talk about other things, despite the sudden awkwardness that comes over them, and when Scotty wakes up, they have brunch together and try to plan for the immediate future.

 

Two days later, it happens. Scotty shows up at Jim's front door looking a little less haggard. He's holding a new bottle of Scotch in his hand, and interesting glint to his eye as he pushes past Jim and makes his way into the kitchen unit.

 

"Make yourself at home," Jim says with a touch of sarcasm. "What's going on?"

 

"This is for helping me out the other day," Scotty says, tossing the words over his shoulder. "I'm not sure what ye know about Scotch, but that's a fairly good label. Pretty smooth, all things considered."

 

What Jim knows about Scotch might be a little longer than an Amish telephone book, but he takes the proffered tumbler of amber liquid with an open mind. He sniffs it and finds it smells that whiskey, but he doesn't dare say that out loud. "Is this a drink to say thank you, or to share some news?"

 

"Six of one half, and a half dozen of the other," Scotty announced, and taps his glass to Jim's. "Bottoms up, lad."

 

It's better than Everclear, but most things are. Jim lets the burn descend into his gut before prodding Scotty for details. "So what's going on?"

 

"The fire department got back to me this morning," Scotty begins, and he takes the bottle with him to go sit in the living room. "Seems there was a short with the knob and tube wiring. The building's a write-off, and to be blunt, even with the insurance, I can't afford to rebuild. I figure that if I sell the property, I'd come away fairly comfortable."

 

The Scotch feels like it's burning a hole in Jim's gut, with disappointment only adding to the pain. "That's too bad."

 

"But." To punctuate his phrase, Scotty reaches out with the bottle to give them both another shot. He uses the bottle to illustrate his points as he speaks. "I have proposal for you. An old pal of mine happened to call, and he was asking if I knew anyone who'd be interested in buying his garage. I've seen it once, it's not much bigger than my old place, but it's nice. Anyway, I told Trip that I was interested, but here's the problem. He's in Georgia."

 

"So you're leaving," Jim says, and he leaves his Scotch untouched for now. The disappointment is so visceral, he's half-worried his first drink might make a reappearance.

 

"And I want you to come with me," Scotty says, and despite his weariness, there's a twinkle in his grey eyes. "You've been great to work with for the last two years, lad, and I can't imagine opening another shop without you there. Besides, it's not often you find another mutant like us. D'you think you'd like to be my business partner in this?"

 

That's how Jim finds himself driving to Georgia one week later, with the paperwork drawing up the partnership sitting inside his suitcase in the trunk. He's left with a heavy heart, with Hikaru alone and angry in Missouri, but as he'd said, the kid has one year of high school left; what he does afterwards is his own decision.

 

It's early evening when he approaches the outskirts of Atlanta, and he's got the windows open in a desperate bid to get a breeze. The weather is incredibly humid, and the Midwestern boy that he is, Jim isn't sure how long he'll be able to stand the conditions. He'll just have to tough it out.

 

He slows down suddenly, seeing a car parked on the shoulder with the hazard lights on. There's a man standing at the open hood, and from the way he's standing, he's looking a little lost as he peers down at the engine. Jim recognizes the frustration and pulls up ahead of him.

 

"Need a hand?" he calls out as he gets out.

 

"That obvious, is it?" The man runs a hand through shaggy dark hair, and gives a rueful smile. "You know something about cars?"

 

"A few things," Jim says, strolling over. "Mind if I take a look?"

 

"Be my guest," the man says. "I'm a doctor, not a mechanic. Everyone says this should be easy, but I'll be damned if I know what's wrong."

 

"You said a bad word," a small voice chides from the open window. Jim ducks around the hood to see a child's face peering out. From the shared dark hair, the round face and pointed chin, Jim guesses that's the man's daughter, who stares at him through round sun-glasses like she's a pint-sized Audrey Hepburn. "If I can't use 'em, Daddy, you can't either."

 

The man rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. "Sorry, sweetpea."

 

She smiles sweetly, and focuses again on Jim. "Hi. My name is Joanna, and that's my daddy. What's your name?"

 

Jim heads for the open window and offers the kid his hand. She can't be more than four, and she's got the poise of a child who knows that they can do no wrong in their parents' eyes. "Hey, Joanna. I'm Jim, and I'm going to fix your car."

 

"I hope you do," she says. "We're supposed to pick a kitty, but now we can't."

 

Her dad clears his throat. "Let Jim get back to work, Joanna, so we can get out of here."

 

"Okay," she says, and slips back into the back seat with a book.

 

"Leonard McCoy," the man says, extending his hand. He's got a good grip, and while Jim had him figured as being over thirty, he can see now that he's overestimated. They take the few steps together back to the engine, and McCoy gestures to the engine with a hopeless sigh. "I appreciate that you stopped."

 

"Not a problem," Jim says, flashing him a smile and finding himself liking the way McCoy's lips quirk up on the sides. "So what exactly happened?"

 

He listens to McCoy's story – noise, steam, and then nothing – in that rich accent as he runs through his routine check to narrow down the problem. He spots the problem almost right away, and makes a satisfied sound as he sees that it isn't going to be something serious. "Well, the good news is that it's fixable."

 

McCoy breathes a sigh of relief. "That's good to hear."

 

"Give me a second." Jim's tempted to use his speed to get to his trunk and the tools he'll need, but he's wary about doing that in front of people he's just met. He walks quickly instead, and then he's ready to get to work. He glances at McCoy, who's leaning against the side of the car with a politely curious expression. "So, what kind of doctor are you?"

 

"Medical," McCoy says. "I'm training to become a surgeon."

 

"I bet you'd make a fine sawbones," Jim says, and then grins when he sees that the problem was fixed. "Because you sure aren't much of a mechanic."

 

"I think I said that earlier," McCoy retorts, but there's a faint flush to his cheeks that wasn't there earlier. The momentary reaction disappears as McCoy suddenly looks disgruntled, shifting back. "So are you done yet?"

 

"I think so," Jim says, "but let me double-check. I'd hate for the patient to break down again, you know?"

 

McCoy snorts, but it sounds fond. A few moments later, they hear the car door open and there's a crunch of gravel under small feet as Joanna comes out beside them. McCoy turns to face her. "Go back into the car, Joanna."

 

"I'm tired of sitting," she says, and with her accent, her petulance has a charming edge. "I want to know more about Jim. Where's he from?"

 

"Sweetpea," McCoy warns.

 

"Nah, it's okay," Jim says, but he keeps working. He can spare only one glance, and can just see the top of her dark head over the side of the car. "My family's from a place called Iowa, which is about five states from here if you head directly north-west."

 

"Is that why you talk funny?" she asks.

 

Jim can't help the grin. "Sure, but you know, to my ears, it's you and your dad who talk with an accent."

 

"That's because I'm from Georgia," she tells him with a definitive tone. "What's in Iowa?"

 

"A lot of corn," he says, and with a final twist, he's done. Jim gets out the handkerchief he's taken to stuffing habitually in his back pocket, and wipes his hands. He turns toward the McCoys, and realizes that Joanna has her sunglasses off in the late afternoon sunlight. She looks up at him with large eyes that are an orangish colour, startling against the darkness of her hair. "Do you like corn?"

 

"It gets stuck in my teeth," she says.

 

He feels McCoy shift next to him, a suddenly anxious presence, and Jim glances at him. It's like he's waiting for Jim to say something, or do something, and Jim suddenly has every empathy in the world for this man. He focuses on Joanna again. "You know, kiddo, even if we talk a bit differently from each other, we've got something in common."

 

She looks eager. "What's that?"

 

"Well," he begins, looking at her dad again to make sure he's still included in the conversation, "you see, I don't tell a lot of people about this – especially if we just met, but since we've had this great talk so far, I'd like to share it with you. I have this secret talent, you see. I can run really fast."

 

To his surprise, it's McCoy who replies even as Joanna claps her hands together delightedly. "How fast?"

 

"Too fast for the Olympics," Jim says.

 

A slow look of understanding crosses McCoy's face while Joanna pipes in with more questions – how far could he go, is he like Superman and faster than a speeding bullet? He puts a hand on her shoulder, and Joanna immediately quietens although she's almost vibrating with curious energy. For a moment, Jim wonders how long she'll last that way.

 

"Where are you headed?" McCoy asks.

 

"Atlanta," he says. "I'm supposed to meet a friend tomorrow, because we're going into business together."

 

"You got a place to stay tonight?" McCoy continues.

 

That's not really what Jim expects to hear, and he fumbles for an answer. "Well, I figured I'd just sleep in the car."

 

McCoy snorts. "Think again, farm boy. Come on, if you follow us and if you actually fixed my car, we'll be home in time for supper."

 

It would be rude to refuse, and that was Jim's somewhat abrupt introduction to Southern hospitality. As they got into their individual cars, with Joanna's face peering out from the backseat of McCoy's car with a wave and a grin, Jim couldn't help the laugh that escapes his lips. He suspects he's just made his first friends in Georgia, for better or worse.

 

~~~

 

_**Georgia, 1966** _

 

Nyota's Saturday ritual involves driving across town, picking up something nice at the bakery, and then heading over to the McCoys for coffee.

 

She's come to rely on the weekly meeting, ever since she met Leonard a few months ago. It's the closest to family that she'll get in Atlanta, and while Spock isn't very verbose, she knows he's come to appreciate their little community. It's enough to get her through the moments when she picks up the murmurs of discontent from the McCoys' neighbours, about the company they keep and the strangeness about them -- and not to mention about Joanna.

 

That's another reason why Nyota comes over every week, to be there for Joanna. She can tell that Leonard worries about being a single parent, and one who's often too busy with his residency to be both father and mother to Joanna. Nyota's happy to be the female role model in Joanna's life, and she loves spending time with the four year old.

 

It's also important for her to see that there are people with visible mutations who are successful and happy in life, too.

 

Nyota's used to how people treat her, and sometimes she's glad that the only problem she has to worry about is the colour of her skin. She's long ago come to find ways to overcome the worst of it, when she can, but she knows that the prejudices about mutations are going to be harder to surmount. Thirty years ago, people like Spock and Joanna might've been employed in freak shows; polite society still isn't sure what to do with them now.

 

This morning in particular, Nyota chooses to pick up a peach pie, and it's still warm as she brings it back to the car. Spock's in the passenger seat, reading a book as usual, and he barely registers the pie being transferred to his lap. He doesn't even look up until several minutes later when they've parked in the McCoys' driveway, at which point he just bookmarks his page and sets it on the dashboard.

 

"There is someone else here," he says, with faint surprise.

 

Sure enough, there's a car with Missouri plates parked in front of the house, and Nyota doesn't think much of it as they head for the front door. She just knocks once before opening the door. Depending on Leonard's schedule, she's long since learned, he might be asleep on his rare day off, or it might just be Elenora and Joanna at home.

 

"Nyota!" Joanna calls from the top of the stairs, and the speed of her descent would cause most adults to break their necks. Her eyes are a bright, eager citrine as she grins, and throws herself at Nyota. She clambers like a monkey until she's got her arms around Nyota's neck. "Hi, how are you?"

 

"I'm fine," Nyota says, "and remember, keep your voice to inside levels, please." Both for her own ears and for Spock's. Joanna gives a bashful "sorry" and then waves at Spock. Nyota can't help the smile as she carries Joanna into the kitchen, and not for the first time, she wonders what the little girl's talents will be when she gets older. "We've brought pie."

 

"I like pie," Joanna says. "Can we go to the library today?"

 

"Let's ask your dad first," Nyota says, and then falters for a moment in the threshold when she sees a young man she's never met before. He's tall, blond, and looks awkward in the middle of Elenora's kitchen. Nyota shifts Joanna in her arms, a little uncertain herself. "Oh, hello."

 

"That's Jim," Joanna says. "And Jim, this is Nyota and Spock. They're my friends, too, and they've brought us some pie so someone's going to have make them more coffee. Well, coffee for Nyota, because Spock only drinks tea and it's hot."

 

Jim blinks from over his coffee mug with big blue eyes, and shuffles over to shake their hands. Nyota's surprised when Spock accepts, but then again, he probably has something planned. "Hey there, pleased to meet you."

 

They're spared from further conversation by Leonard, who looks like he's got the day off. He's rumpled and after a quick greeting, takes the pie from Spock's hands and goes to prepare beverages. Nyota sets Joanna down, who scampers away, and grabs her usual chair at the table. She immediately notices the way that Jim's attention is distracted by Leonard's presence, and it's interesting.

 

"Jim's new to town," Leonard says. From the grit in his voice, she can tell he's under-caffeinated and still trying to catch up on his sleep after a long week. "He and a friend are buying the Tucker Garage on the other side of town, so he's staying here for a few days until he's settled."

 

From the expression on Jim's face, there's another part of the story that isn't being shared yet, and Nyota can't resist. "So you've known each other long?"

 

"Just a few days, actually," Jim says. "I fixed his car, and he brought me home."

 

She smiles. "I can understand that."

 

"So is Spock your first name?" Jim asks, focusing on Spock who's done his usual habit of sitting and simply listening.

 

"I prefer using my surname," Spock tells him.

 

"Then what's your first name?" Jim wonders.

 

"Bill." Spock says it with the distaste that he's always had about his given name, and Nyota can't really blame him for the feeling. He doesn't look anything like a Bill, in all honesty, and she's never thought of him as anything else but Spock. "I am pleased to see that Dr. McCoy has collected yet another mutant."

 

The reaction is amusing when Jim chokes on his coffee, while Leonard points the pie lifter at him. "Don't play with the kid's head, Spock."

 

Nyota punctuates the comment with a poke of her toe against Spock's leg, and she can feel the amusement radiating from her boyfriend even without the link between them. "I apologize for Spock, sometimes he forgets that people don't appreciate his sense of humour."

 

"You're a mutant too?" Jim asks, focusing on Nyota for a moment.

 

"I'm not fond of the word," she says, "but yes. Leonard's got an interesting knack of drawing people around him."

 

"I thought your power was healing," Jim says to Leonard, who's bringing over the freshly brewed pot and an empty mug for Nyota.

 

"That is my power," Leonard explains. "It's not my fault that mutants keep dropping in on my doorstep, figuratively speaking."

 

Nyota hides a smile, because she doesn't think she'd like living in Atlanta if it weren't for Leonard and his family. She sees Spock watching her, and knows he's thinking the same thing.

 

"Well," Jim says, after a long drink of coffee, "there's more of us out there. I mean, who knows how many mutants there really are. My business partner's a mutant, and so's my best friend back in Missouri. Everyone's gathering up and fighting for their rights nowadays. Have you ever wondered if mutants shouldn't do the same?"

 

"Everyone else can because there's something that identifies them as being different," Nyota says.

 

"Not all of us have physical characters that mark us as being different from the majority," Spock adds, with the reasoned tone that she's come to know as his intellectual mode. "I have followed some of Professor Xavier's theories about human mutation and how it might manifest in the population, and I am led to believe that many individuals would have powers that are mild and would not lead them to be shunned from the larger community."

 

"Like my ability to heal," Leonard says, this time bringing over the pie. "I've never had to out myself to anyone, really, until Joanna came along."

 

"So there's not a community of mutants, so to speak," Nyota finishes.

 

"But shouldn't there be one?" Jim asks.

 

"This is a good start, isn't it?" Leonard says as he finally sits down. There's something slightly unsettled about his expression, and Nyota isn't sure what's going on in his head. "I mean, who knows what might've happened if any of us had gone with Xavier when he came to see us. I don't even know what the purpose of that visit was, anyway. All I know is that I wouldn't have this if I'd gone."

 

"Has anyone tried getting in touch with Xavier since then?" Jim wonders, and then his eyes drift shut at the first bite of pie. "Oh, my god, okay. Fine. I can deal with the humidity if this is the kind of food you get down here."

 

"Glad we pass muster," Leonard mutters, but behind the sarcasm, he's pleased. "Anyway, I've tried contacting him through Oxford, but it didn't seem to get anywhere. That was a few years ago, though."

 

"We can try again," Jim says.

 

Joanna interrupts the conversation when she breezes into the kitchen. She's got a book bag that she abandons on the floor near the fridge as she clambers up into her father's lap. Leonard shifts back, giving her the room she needs as he gives her bites of his pie.

 

"Nyota wants to take me to the library," she says between mouthfuls.

 

"I believe that was your suggestion, Joanna," Spock says.

 

"Well, that's because it's logical," she shoots back.

 

Nyota hides her smile behind her coffee cup, because this is community enough right now.

 

~~~

 

_**Georgia, 1967** _

 

"Hello, Doctor McCoy."

 

Leonard looks up at the accented voice coming from the front sidewalk. It's the Russian kid who's moved in down the block, who he's often seen riding around alone on his bicycle. Pavel, if he remembers right, whose father works for the Center for Disease Control. They'd talked once soon after the family moved in, but not much since.

 

"Morning, Pavel," Leonard says.

 

The kid's got big blue eyes and a mop of curly hair that threatens to obscure his sight at the slightest breeze. He looks like he's barely ten, but Leonard knows he's in junior high. "I am wondering if you would have work for me to do?"

 

"Like what?" Leonard asks.

 

"Anything," Pavel says, with an eagerness that carries over despite his accent. Leonard's not entirely sure what his first language was, but it's an interesting mix that traces the family's moves from Russia to Hungary and elsewhere before finally landing in the United States.

 

It's still early, and Leonard's wishing he'd had another cup of coffee before starting the conversation. He'd just wanted the daily paper, and instead he sighs as he surveys the yard. He's got another long week ahead of him and the grass should be mowed, and all the other tasks that he'd do if he had another eight hours in a day.

 

"Yard work okay?" he asks, and Pavel nods so quickly that Leonard can't help the smile. "Fine, if you can mow the lawn and maybe weed the garden, I'll give you five dollars."

 

The kid's grinning like a fiend, and Leonard quickly gives him the instructions on how to get access to the mower. He wanders inside afterwards, and ignores the signs that it's late afternoon according to the rest of world even though he's been working the night shifts lately.

 

He's got a bowl of cereal and a much needed mug of coffee in hand as he makes his way into the living room. Despite having an apartment somewhere else – even though Leonard's seen it and helped the bastard move in – Jim is present and he's sprawled in front of the television with Joanna. They're watching something that looks like science fiction where the heroic captain is fighting against what looks like a tyrannosaur in spandex.

 

"What is this?" Leonard asks between bites.

 

"Our show," Joanna pronounces deliberately, glancing back with a look.

 

Jim punctuates that with a finger to his lips, and Leonard takes the hint and eats in silence as the rest of the episode finishes with a dubious win for the golden-shirted hero. Joanna cheers, her arms around Jim's neck, and then comes to plunk down next to Leonard.

 

"I like that," she declares.

 

"Why's that?" Leonard asks, and draws her in for a one-armed hug.

 

"Because it's about people working together," she says. "Lots of different people who even come from different planets and they don't fight. It makes me wish that we had that right now, Daddy."

 

Leonard smiles at the wistful tone. "Well, it's something we can all work toward."

 

"Mmm. Jim can be captain, Spock his science officer, and you're the doctor, of course," she says.

 

"Of course," Jim echoes, because he's enjoying this, and from this angle, Leonard can admire the profile of his face without being noticed. "She's got it all figured out, and the most important part is that Joanna can be president of the universe."

 

"Isn't she already?" Leonard asks.

 

"No!" she says, with that delighted tone that suggests he's being ridiculous, and suddenly Leonard realizes that he hasn't been hearing that all that much lately. His baby's growing up, and the silliness is going to get less and less common. "Daddy, I'm only four. Besides, we're not on the moon yet."

 

"No, we certainly aren't," Leonard says, and then he has to hold his bowl up as Joanna suddenly jumps up because Elenora's coming in the front door. He rolls his eyes before leaning back, and stretches out his legs. He looks up as Jim moves over to join him on the sofa, and while there's several feet of space between them, Leonard can feel the energy between them vividly. "Thanks for keeping her company, Jim."

 

The smile he gets is bright and pleased. "She's an awesome kid, Bones. It's more like she's keeping me company."

 

Leonard can't help the face he makes at the nickname, but any attempts to get rid of it failed months ago. "That reminds me, I should look into getting her into kindergarten."

 

"I think your mom already has," Jim says.

 

"She did?" Leonard sighs. "Well, that's good to know. So Jim, don't you actually work?"

 

"Yeah, I sure do," Jim shoots back. "Normal work hours. I came over after to see if your mom needed anything, and she had me sit with Joanna while she went out to do a few errands. Scotty says hi, by the way, and he wants you to bring in your car when you can so he can look at that weird noise you've been hearing."

 

"You mean the noise that Nyota hears," Leonard says. "I swear, the car sounds fine."

 

"You're also tone deaf," Jim says.

 

"I'm a doctor, not a musician," Leonard snaps. "It's not like I need perfect pitch to be able to do a successful operation, you know."

 

"Mmm, but your staff would appreciate it if you didn't sing during surgery," Jim says.

 

That boggles him, and Leonard can't help the scowl. "I don't sing during surgery. Who the hell told you that?"

 

Jim's grin widens. "No one. I just wanted to see the look on your face."

 

"Yeah, well, the look on my face is going to be nothing compared to the look on yours when I close the car door on your fingers the next time you piss me off," Leonard threatens.

 

"That's almost romantic," Jim teases, "because then you'll just fix 'em all over again."

 

"I'd be tempted not to," Leonard mumbles.

 

"Short-lived temptation," Jim says, and from his tone, he knows he's got Leonard's number. Fair enough. "You couldn't leave me in pain any more than you could, oh, I don't know. Do anything else that would involve pain and suffering. You've got a good heart, Bones, and that's one thing I really appreciate about you."

 

Suddenly, there's not enough space between them, and Leonard's finding himself wetting suddenly dry lips as he realizes that he wants to get even closer to Jim. He doesn't examine the thought very much, and then he's leaning in for a soft kiss because he's still not entirely sure if Jim's feeling anything even remotely similar to his emotions.

 

Apparently so, because while's tentative and soft, it's also very sweet. Leonard finds his eyes drifting shut, even if they're not doing all that much more than the touching of their lips together. Jim's the one who breaks it off, and his eyes are large and liquid in the early evening light.

 

"You need to get ready for work," Jim says, voice catching a bit.

 

Leonard nods, but he's not ready to go just yet. "Was that, um... okay?"

 

When Jim smiles this time, it's lack his usual characteristic arrogance. "More than okay. We can do it again, when you're not going to be late for work, and especially when your kid isn't in the other room."

 

A very reasonable idea, and Leonard nods as he pulls away. He deposits his dishes in the sink, and hurries upstairs to get showered and dressed. His usual clothes are slacks and a button down shirt, and although he loves what he's doing, he finds himself wishing he could just stay home and spend time with the people he cares about.

 

He passes his mama and Joanna on the stairs on the way down, and says good night to them both. Joanna's still a little wired from earlier, and she clings to him for a few extra moments before she's pried away to go get her bath. By the time Leonard's downstairs again, he sees that Jim's left, and somehow, two weeks' worth of yard work is completed.

 

"Pavel?" Leonard calls.

 

The kid appears from the backyard, where he seems to be putting away the lawn mower. "Oh, Dr. McCoy, I was going to come back and tell you later that I had completed everything.

 

"Everything," Leonard repeats.

 

"Da," the kid says, a habit that happens despite the teasing of local kids who like calling him a pinko.

 

"The lawn?"

 

Pavel gestures to the mowed grass. "Both front and back."

 

That despite Leonard's pretty sure he didn't hear the lawnmower running. "Okay, what's the deal? This has to be quick, before I start running late. Do you want to explain to me why you've done everything on the list, and you're not even tired? What's going on?"

 

There's a quickly pained expression crossing his features, and then he snaps his fingers. There's a shift in something, and Leonard realizes that the wind is still, the curtains aren't fluttering, the birds are silent, and there's a butterfly frozen mid-flight off to his left. The only thing left with motion is himself and Pavel, who looks at him with large blue eyes.

 

"I have been here for three hours," Pavel tells him, "since you talked with me forty-five minutes ago."

 

"Bullshit," Leonard says, even if the truth is obvious around him. He steps up to look at the butterfly, resisting the urge to touch; the last thing he'd want to do is either push it off-course or unfortunately brush the powder from its wings. "This is amazing."

 

The kid smiles widely. "I believe the saying is that there is only twenty-four hours in a day. There is, but I find that if I require it, I can create several more that people are unable to sense."

 

"That's a handy skill to have," Leonard says.

 

"I can study and do my homework and still have time for what I would rather be doing," Pavel says. He then wrinkles his nose at Leonard. "Why are you not upset any further?"

 

"Am I the first person you've told this to?" Leonard asks.

 

Pavel nods.

 

"Is it because of my daughter's appearance?" Leonard continues.

 

Another nod. "And because of Mr. Spock."

 

"Ah." Leonard considers the kid for a long moment, somehow reassured that he could give this conversation the time that it required without being late for work. "Well, it's a pretty useful talent to have. It strikes me as a power that could have some very useful applications, but one that could be dangerously applied if you aren't careful of what you're doing."

 

"I know." Pavel suddenly looks younger than his years, and yet he's trying to be proud of himself. "The longest I could maintain control is for four hours."

 

"That's impressive," Leonard says. "What were you doing?"

 

The kid's smile is sweet. "Reading comics under my blankets. I may have been able to hold it longer than that, but I fell asleep."

 

"There are worse ways," Leonard says. "You know, if I were you, I'd be using that to get all my reading done so I could skip ahead in school."

 

"Oh, but I am," Pavel says. "I have plans. I wish to be a scientist before I am twenty."

 

"At this speed, you'll be there before you're sixteen," Leonard says, and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. He gives Pavel a ten dollar bill. "There, that's for all the work you did today. Just don't go spend it all at the same place at once, you hear?"

 

"I would never dream of it," Pavel promises, and takes off down the block.

 

~~~

 

_**Atlantia, 1967** _

 

Jim turns twenty in 1967, and he decides to have two celebrations. Hikaru flies in for the first one, when Mrs. McCoy makes a traditional Southern-style dinner and the so-called mutant family – or whatever Jim feels like calling it – gathers around the table for fried chicken, collards and cheesy grits. Nyota brings the cake, and Jim gets Joanna to help blow out the candles. Bones surprises him with a practical but thought-out present of a new toolset for the garage.

 

They're too precious to use there, and Jim keeps them at his apartment, on hand for work on his own car.

 

The week before his birthday, a letter from Sam came through. He's stationed temporarily at Fort Benning, just south of Atlanta, and for Jim it's a short jog down for a visit. While they've been exchanging notes over the years, regular visits have been difficult after Jim moved to Missouri, and he's not about to pass up this opportunity.

 

Sam's almost exactly the way Jim remembers, except possibly more broad across the shoulders. He's not sure what Sam sees, or if he approves, but that worry disappears as Sam grabs him for a bear hug, and laughs in Jim's ear.

 

"My kid brother's all grown up," Sam says, and then pulls away. "You're looking good, kid. So what are you doing in Georgia?"

 

"I own a shop with a friend of mine," Jim says, and then they're sitting down for dinner. It's a nice restaurant, a bit better than a greasy spoon, and they both order burgers. "I repair cars. It's a good gig, and I've got a circle of friends that I hang out with regularly. They've got similar interests to mine, in regard to my running."

 

He doesn't have to hint much further, because Sam's always been quick. "Is that a fact? So you're not the only one."

 

"Not by far," Jim says, but doesn't feel like going into details. "How about you?"

 

"Finding myself enjoying army life," Sam admits, leaning back into the booth. "Strangely enough."

 

"Kirks are strange," Jim says.

 

"Tell me about it." Sam regards him for a long moment. "So is there someone special in your life?"

 

Jim can't help the expression he makes, which is probably something between a smile, a grimace, and uncertainty how to come clean about Bones. "Well, in a way."

 

"How's that?" Sam asks, blue eyes intent.

 

"Well, there's been a few girls, but now I've got someone who respects me as a person, who encourages me to grow in maturity." Jim knows his smile is more genuine now. "It's nothing serious right now, because there's a kid involved, and I totally respect that. Joanna's awesome, and she's smart and I like being there for her, too. I don't know, I think I've got something going for me now."

 

"Sounds like it," Sam says carefully, and it's pretty clear he's noticed the lack of pronouns. Someone else might've called him on it, but Sam's cool that way even if he's in the army. He nods slowly, and shrugs. "Well, I hope it works out for you, kid. You deserve some happiness in your life."

 

"Thanks, man," Jim says, because it does mean a lot to have his brother's approval, even now. "How about you?"

 

"What about me?" Sam pauses as their food is brought over, and he thanks the waitress before starting to get his burger put together properly. He's eating his onions now, Jim notices, and he can't help pointing them out. Sam sighs. "You eat the food that's given to you or you starve. You learn to get rid of your picky tastebuds pretty quickly."

 

"And?" Jim leans forward, while depositing his own raw onion rings onto Sam's plate.

 

"I've got a girl," Sam finally admits. "Her name's Aurelan, she's waiting for me in California. That's where her family lives, anyway, and we're doing the long distance thing right now. Not much choice, but it seems to work for us. She's waiting for me until I get back."

 

Jim frowns. "From here?"

 

"No," Sam says, and suddenly the atmosphere at the table sombers. "Jim, I'm going to Vietnam. They're shipping me out next week."

 

There was technically nothing wrong with the burger, but it was dry like sawdust in Jim's mouth and tasted like ashes. "Sam..."

 

"I'll be okay." Despite being brittle around the edges, Sam's smile looks as genuine as usual. "I've already talked to Mom, and I wanted to tell you in person. I'm in this for six years, regardless, and if I go on active duty instead of reserve duty, I can get out of this faster."

 

"Yeah, but it's a war," Jim says.

 

"Look at our country," Sam retorts. "There's war going on here already. The Civil Rights movements, the student protests and the anti-war protests. There's enough action happening here that it almost doesn't matter where you are."

 

Jim opens his mouth to protest, that in his little corner of Atlanta, it's quiet and nice, but he can't. All he can do is nod and hope that Sam's making the best decision possible, and tries not to think about the dog tags he's long since stopped wearing – they could get caught up in the machines at work – and that are kept among his undershirts. "What did Mom say?"

 

"What do you think?" Sam asks. "She just talks about Dad."

 

"I wish I'd known him better," Jim sighs.

 

"You know everything you need to know," Sam tells him.

 

The rest of the meal is carefully neutral conversation, and then they're outside again. Sam hands him a wrapped present as they stand in the parking lot. Sam's still the taller of the two of them, but as they're parting, Jim doesn't feel that same pang of abandonment as he had when he was younger.

 

"Save the present for when you get home," Sam says. "Maybe share it with that maybe-date of yours."

 

It's a soft swish of liquid that gives it away, but Jim obeys his instructions. When they hug, he can still feel it all the while he hurries home, but instead of going to his apartment, Jim opts to show up on the McCoys' doorstep. It coincides with Bones coming home from a day shift, looking rumpled and tired, but the smile he gives Jim lights up the weary corners of his face.

 

"How did it go with your brother?" he asks.

 

Jim can't help the grimace he makes. "He's going to Vietnam."

 

Bones stops and looks at him for a very long moment, and then nods. "Come with me."

 

There's a wooden swing in the backyard, basically a table and two opposing benches that are set on rails that allow for a rocking motion. Elenora has it situated near her flower garden, and tonight there are fireflies. It's like the yard is full of stars, and Jim watches them for a long while after they sit.

 

"What's in the bag?" Leonard finally asks.

 

It's a bottle of Everclear, as Jim discovers a few moments later after he unwraps it, and he's struck by a suddenly twist of homesickness. "This, Bones, is absolute shit."

 

"Is that so?" Bones asks drily.

 

"The best," Jim promises, and opens the top. He takes a long swig, and passes it across to Bones who sniffs it with a suspicious twitch of his nose. "Drink, go for it."

 

Bones takes a careful sip, and grimaces once before taking another deeper pull. "That's awful shit."

 

"The very best," Jim agrees.

 

They sit next to each other, and while the intent was to discuss, Jim's not all that disappointed when they just keep quiet. The weather is comfortable, and the fireflies keep to themselves as the crickets keep chirping away. They trade the bottle back and forth, until Jim suddenly feels the heavy weight of Bones's head on his shoulder. In the faint light, he looks both ethereal and exhausted, and Jim has a long moment of remorse for having dragged him out here.

 

He grasps Bones' hand with his, and laces their fingers together. He'll wake him up eventually, because this was going to be hard of their backs despite everything else, but for the moment, this is something he wants to cherish.

 

Happy birthday.

 

~~~

 

_**Atlanta, 1968** _

 

Joanna knows she's different.

 

Her daddy tries to tell her otherwise, but she can see it every time she looks in the mirror. She doesn't even remember a time when she wasn't aware of how her eyes make her unlike everyone else. Eyes are supposed to be blue like Jim's or brown like Nyota's, or even colours like her daddy's that are both green and brown.

 

Not orange.

 

She doesn't mind being different. That means she's special, and she likes to think of herself as unique. Spock taught her that word one Saturday when it was raining. She likes what it means, that she's one of a kind.

 

She knows there's people who don't understand that. She hears Daddy, Jim and Gramma talk about them all the time, how there's all the different people in the world and how some people think it matters if your skin is a different colour, or if you were born somewhere else that wasn't the South or the United States.

 

Daddy says what matters is if you're a good person who wants to make the world a better place. It's important to make things better than what it is now, whether it's how people are treated, or in the way people lives their lives. One day, when she grows up, that's what she wants to do.

 

But she has to go to kindergarten first. She doesn't really want to go because she'll miss Gramma during the day, and besides, she already knows how to count up to twenty – all her fingers and toes – and she can recite the alphabet. She can't possibly imagine what she can learn there that she can't at home. She talks to Daddy about school, and he makes it sound like a good place to be. After all, he's been to school forever because he's a doctor.

 

The week before school starts, Gramma takes her shopping. Joanna has a new school bag, and clothes that fit her because she's grown again. They stop for ice cream, and Gramma pauses between licks and nibbles to smile at her fondly.

 

"I remember when your daddy started school," she says. "He was so nervous that he wouldn't let go of my hand. You seem to be doing just fine, baby girl, and you're making me proud."

 

Joanna might not be nervous, but the problem is that the kids at school are rude. Their mamas and daddies didn't teach them manners. They stare, point and giggle, and they just don't understand that Joanna is unique. Most of the time they leave her alone, but sometimes they're outright teasing her. Andrew, one of the boys, is the worst, and he corners her one recess.

 

"I don't think your eyes are real," he says. "No one has eyes like that, my dad says so."

 

"Well, they are," she shoots back.

 

"Then you're a freak," he says.

 

Later in the day, he comes up behind her and tugs on her ponytail. He's trying to make her cry, and instead she bites her lip and refuses to make a sound. She won't give him the satisfaction of giving in to him, and only later will she cry when she's alone because that goddamn hurts.

 

She decides to share the story with Pavel after school. His middle school isn't far from hers, and since kindergarten is in the afternoon for her, he meets her in front of her class so he can walk her home. She likes his company, and it's fun to hold his hand and listen to him talk. Sometimes he'll teach her Russian words, and she tries to repeat them. The words are strange coming from her mouth, and now she can count to twenty in Russian, too.

 

"Did he hurt you?" Pavel asks when she finishes, and squeezes her hand in sympathy.

 

"No," she says, although the skin on her head aches a little.

 

"Good," Pavel says. "I think you did the right thing. If you'd responded in any other way, he probably wouldn't have stopped. You didn't give him a reason to keep bothering you. It's called denying them battle."

 

"I ignore them every day," she points out. "They still come back. I just want them to stop."

 

Pavel looks at her with big blue eyes, and changes the topic. "How about a piggyback?"

 

She says yes only because she knows he's got nothing else to offer her.

 

It's a different story when her daddy comes home from the hospital that night. She barely gives him time to eat something before she's climbing into his lap. His arms go around her immediately, and he smells more like the hospital than he normally does.

 

"What's wrong, sweetpea?" he asks.

 

She repeats the details, and when she's done, her daddy's upset enough for the two of them.

 

"Where was the teacher when this happened?" he asks as he gives her a hug. When her daddy's arms are around her, Joanna likes to thinks nothing will hurt her, and she puts her head on his shoulder.

 

"Mrs. Wentworth wasn't looking right then," Joanna says.

 

"Well, you go find her the next time something like that happens," Daddy says in the voice he uses when he wants her to listen and remember. "You've done the right thing in telling me, Joanna. No one has the right to do that to you, or to anyone for that matter. I'll take care of it, okay?"

 

That's what he promises, and while Joanna wants to believe him, it happens again a few days later. Andrew sneaks behind her at recess again, calls her a freak again, and when he pulls on her hair, it makes her eyes water. Joanna doesn't want to take it, so she doesn't. She punches him in the middle, and Andrew lets go with a surprised squawk.

 

This time, Mrs. Wentworth sees, but she's only noticed what Joanna's done. She's at Andrew's side in a moment, and listens to his cries at how Joanna's hit him for no reason.

 

For some reason, Mrs. Wentworth believes him, and she's grasping Joanna's wrist in a tight grip to haul her inside for detention. This isn't how it's supposed to go, and Joanna's speechless in shock, when one of the other girls draws their teacher's attention.

 

"He pulled her hair first," Janice says. "I saw it."

 

"Is that true?" Mrs. Wentworth asks, and Andrew can't hide the truth this time. Joanna meets the other girl's gaze and tries to smile through her upset as she mouths her thanks. Janice smiles back. Mrs. Wentworth releases Joanna's arm, but still leads her back to the classroom to talk about why hitting back isn't a good thing. It's still not completely fair, but at least Joanna thinks she's got a new friend from the ordeal.

 

The thing is, she can deal with kindergarten. Larger kids, on the other hand, are scarier – especially when Pavel isn't around to watch out for her. There's two boys in particular who live between her house and the library, and they make her nervous. They're attracted to her like wasps to garbage, and Joanna has never felt smaller before in her entire life. The problem is that she could avoid them, but it means never getting to go to the library.

 

So she takes her chances.

 

It's a warm Saturday morning in early October, and Joanna wants to go to the library. She's running out of new books to read, and she has her book bag packed for the walk over. Gramma's already up, and her daddy's still asleep from coming in late, so once it's ten o'clock she asks if it's okay to go by herself. She's a big girl, and sometimes she's allowed to go alone.

 

"I want you back in an hour," Gramma says.

 

Joanna gives her a hug and a kiss, and then she's out the door. She walks quickly, and then she's there in a few minutes. She returns the books, and then goes to collect some new ones. She waits patiently as the librarian signs them out, and writes her name very carefully in block letters on the cards. She's got the best writing in the class, and she loves any chance she has to write with a pen. It makes her feel like a grown-up.

 

She's halfway down the block when she realizes that the boys are waiting for her. The taller one grins down at her.

 

"Hey, freak," he says. "Get off the sidewalk. We don't let freaks walk on the sidewalk."

 

Joanna swallows hard, but doesn't back down. "I'll walk where I want."

 

They're not expecting that, but then they're moving toward her and Joanna loses what courage she has. She bolts away from them, and runs as fast as she can down the street. They're following, she knows they are, and she's never been so terrified in her entire life. Her heart's pounding, her lungs are aching, and she suddenly veers around a parked car to get to the other side of the street.

 

She doesn't see the car that's driving right into her until it's too late, and all she can do is scream.

 

~~~

 

The sound of voices downstairs draws Leonard out of a doze, and he reluctantly drags himself out of bed. He recognizes Nyota's and Spock's, and he pulls on his bathrobe to head downstairs. He needs caffeine like he needs air this morning, and he doesn't mind if he gets teased by Nyota on the old, threadbare plaid that's older than Joanna.

 

"Where's Joanna?" he asks after exchanging greetings and getting his first large gulp of coffee.

 

"At the library," his mama says. "She hasn't been gone long, and I told her to head straight back. I thought we could to the farmer's market today."

 

"Sounds like a plan," Leonard says, stifling a yawn and sitting across from Nyota. There's a car pulling up front, and from the sound of the motor, it's Jim, and he can't help the smile that he tries to hide behind his mug. He might be a little smitten, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone else figure it out.

 

Spock's downright chatty this morning, which is an interesting change, but Nyota's quiet and is tearing her slice of raisin bread into smaller and smaller pieces. Something's got her on edge, and whatever it is, it's catching. Leonard feels it in his shoulders, and down his spine. They share a glance, and she tries to smile.

 

"Just feels odd today," she says. "Like something's not going right."

 

"Like what?" Jim asks, as he breezes in through the back door. He heads straight for Elenora and gives her a kiss on the cheek, then helps himself to the bread. He takes a bite as he heads for the empty seat at the table, and he brushes the side of Leonard's arm as he passes. It's a warm, friendly touch, and it eases the anxiousness building in his gut.

 

"Nothing I can put a finger on," Nyota says, but she's sitting quietly, like she's on alert.

 

Leonard can't help mirroring her pose, and he suddenly loses all the appetite he has for breakfast. He pushes the plate away, not really seeing Jim's hand snatching out to grasp his leftovers, and then suddenly he feels sick to his stomach.

 

"Dr. McCoy?" Spock asks quietly, intently.

 

But it's Nyota who puts up her hand, eyes wide as she hushes them up. "It's Joanna. Something's wrong, but I can hear her."

 

"Where is she?" Leonard's mouth is dry, and he's already on his feet and heading for the front door. He's got his car keys in hand, and he has an idea already in mind when Nyota points in the direction of the library. He leaves the front door open, and then suddenly Jim is there, all nonchalance gone as he grasps Leonard's arm.

 

"I'll go ahead," Jim says, his face tight.

 

"Go," Leonard says, and then Jim's gone. He's inside the car and fumbling with the keys, cursing at how his fingers seem to have forgotten how to operate. He gets the car into reverse, and he's just pulling into the street when he sees Pavel riding by on his bicycle. Leonard slows the car next to him.  
"Kid, get in."

 

Without asking a single question, Pavel tosses his bicycle on the nearest lawn, and hurries inside the car. Leonard speeds up as much as he dares on a residential road, and then he knows he's there when he sees the crowd of people gathering in the middle of the street. He doesn't see Jim right away, and Leonard's heart is in his throat as he parks the car and then runs.

 

There are books scattered on the road, and then there's blood. Leonard isn't even sure what he's seeing at first, but then there's Jim kneeling next to a small body lying on the asphalt. It's Joanna, and he's not even thinking anymore. Leonard drops down next to them, and for the next few moments he forgets every ounce of training he's had as a doctor. He's just touching, she's not moving, and he can feel how wrong everything is.

 

"What happened?" he manages to ask.

 

Someone somewhere gives the detail of the hit and run – the car's long gone, and so are the boys that had chased Joanna onto the street. Leonard isn't listening anymore. He has his hands on his little girl's chest, where everything feels wrong and suddenly he knows exactly what he's doing. Leonard closes his eyes, drawing in a deep breath as he reaches within the core of his being.

 

"What are you doing?' Jim demands.

 

"Stand back," Leonard whispers, and it's hard to talk because he's concentrating.

 

"Bones?" Jim's got his hand on Leonard's arm, and he's trying to draw him back from Joanna. There's the sound of ambulance and police sirens, and there's the sound of the crowd around them, and it's all too much and he needs space around them. "Bones, the paramedics are here, you need to step back and let them do their job."

 

"No," Leonard breathes, and he's trembling as he feels the warmth building inside him but it's going to take too long. He can feel Joanna slipping away, and this isn't going to happen. "Pavel, you need to freeze things right now!"

 

He doesn't even see it, but there's suddenly silence around them as everything stops – silence except for Leonard's frantic breathing, and the sudden feeling of Jim's hand on his arm. It's too much, and he needs space. He thinks it, and suddenly Jim is lurching back from a shock of energy. There isn't time to apologize, or speak, and finally he has the concentration he needs.

 

Leonard takes everything that he is, and pours it into his daughter's broken body.

 

There's a rush of noise in his ears, and he thinks he hears his name being called out by several voices. The world is snapping back into focus, and it's too much. Leonard's hands fall from Joanna's body, dangling at his sides like the cut strings of a puppet, and can only appreciate the smooth rise and fall of her chest before it all goes black.

 

~~~

 

There's silence around the table after Leonard and Jim storm out, and Nyota finds herself straining to catch anything that might tell her what's going on. It doesn't sound good, and Spock's hand on hers draws her back to the moment. From the concern on his face, and the worry on Elenora's, she's aware everyone's upset but she hasn't a clue what to say.

 

"I'm going to get some clothes for Leonard," Elenora decides.

 

Spock isn't letting go of her, and once they're alone, he shifts his chair closer to her. "What did you hear?"

 

He's projecting calm toward her, and it's helping to ease her emotions. Nyota shakes her head for a moment, and she closes her eyes. "Spock... she screamed at the end. I can't stop hearing it."

 

"We will need to help however we can," he says softly, and his fingers are up to her cheek, comforting her with gentle strokes. "I will wait outside, and perhaps you could find something clean for Joanna, in case it's needed."

 

Nyota smiles, and leans in for a kiss. "Thank you."

 

A few minutes later, as an ambulance rushes a few blocks away, she meets Elenora on the steps, and the older woman is so upset that her hands are shaking. She has some of Leonard's clothes gathered in her arms, and she looks at Nyota with determined green eyes, shadowed in the overhead lights.

 

"Oh, thank you, dear," Elenora says, voice sounding brittle, as she reaches for Joanna's clothes. "You and Spock don't need to come with us."

 

"You're family," Nyota tells her firmly. "We're going to see this with you until the end."

 

She shivers at her own words, hating how that sounds, and follows Elenora downstairs as the front door opens. It's Jim and he looks awful. He's pale and there's blood smeared across one sleeve, and his eyes look panicked.

 

"They're being taken to Grady," he says.

 

"What happened?" Elenora asks. "How's Joanna?"

 

"She's... not good," Jim says, and though he's looking at her, his gaze is looking through her. "The paramedics are taking care of her, but it's more than that. Something's wrong with Bones, too."

 

It always takes a moment for Nyota to parse "Bones" as "Leonard," and while the news is alarming, she doesn't want to dwell on it right now. "Tell us in the car. Where's Spock?"

 

"He's in Bones' car," Jim says, so Nyota puts an arm around him, and steers him after Elenora.

 

Spock drives them to the hospital, which is a sweet thing for him to do because he doesn't enjoy being behind the wheel. Most of the time, Nyota's the one who drives, but today she's sitting between two shocked people and trying to make sense of the morning's events.

 

"And he just keeled over?" she repeats.

 

"Yeah, after he pushed me away by blasting me, somehow," Jim says.

 

"Blasting you?" Nyota repeats again, and she's starting to feel like a broken record.

 

It's the theme of the day at the hospital, because once they've parked and navigated their way into the emergency ward, there's discussion and identification, and then finally the hospital staff only let Elenora through to see them. Nyota, Spock and Jim are herded into the waiting room, but then they're joined by a young blonde nurse. She pulls up a chair, holding a clipboard.

 

"My name is Christine Chapel," she says. "I'm a friend of Leonard's here, and I just want to let you know that while it's too early to say anything about their condition, I promise you that Leonard and his daughter are going to be okay. We take care of our own, and we'll let you get back to them as soon as it's clear what's going on. Now, Mrs. McCoy mentioned that one of you was present at the scene of the accident?"

 

Jim raises his hand, and for the first time, Nyota realizes that his palms are scraped. She wonders if he's noticed that yet. "It was me. I'm Jim Kirk."

 

She flashes him a suddenly warm grin, despite the seriousness of her expression. "He's mentioned you."

 

If she hadn't known that Jim was already upset, the blush he gives is a sign of how flustered he is. "Oh. Well, I wasn't there when it happened. Not right away. We got there a few minutes later, but it was pretty clear that she'd been hit by a car."

 

"I see," she says, scribbling a few notes on her clipboard. "What about Leonard?"

 

Jim's eyes lose focus for a moment, and Nyota knows that he's relieving what had happened. She nudges him gently, and he suddenly blinks, reconsidering her question. "Shock?"

 

"Shock," Christine repeats.

 

Jim can only nod.

 

She writes that down, too, and then she's asking more questions but Jim doesn't know the answers. He didn't know if Bones had eaten breakfast, or whether he was feeling unwell lately. He lamely suggests that Christine should repeat most of those questions to Elenora, but Spock quickly interrupts with information about breakfast. Christine quickly jots down that information, and then sets down her pen to address the three of them again.

 

"Is there anything else I need to know?" she asks, looking at them carefully. Her gaze lingers for an extra moment on Spock, and for a moment, Nyota feels herself tensing in anticipation of the usual reactions people have to him – staring, rude questions, or rude comments. Instead, she's surprised by what Christine says next. "Listen, I know that Leonard's special, and that a lot of his friends – some of you, maybe, or all of you, I don't know – are just as special but in different ways. Do you think that Leonard's condition has something to do with that?"

 

That's perceptive of her, and Nyota glances at Spock. He's just raising an eyebrow, but he's not about to speak. Jim, however, is rubbing his scraped palms together absently, and he suddenly nods.

 

"Yeah," he says slowly. "I think it does."

 

"Okay." Christine tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and then edges the chair closer. "I realize this is a delicate subject. I won't pry into your own situations, but as far as I know, Leonard has the ability to heal."

 

"Did he discuss this with you?" Spock asks.

 

Christine shakes her head after a moment. "No, not exactly. I mean, I've met Joanna before, and he mentioned something about genetics regarding her eye colour. I've read Charles Xavier's work, too, and I'm a pretty observant person. When he's in the ER, the patients are always just a little better after they've seen Leonard. It's happened enough times that I began to put two and two together."

 

"He can heal," Nyota confirms, but she's not entirely sure where this is going.

 

"Do you know how he does it?" Christine asks.

 

"Just that he uses his hands," Nyota says. "It's like a warm rush of energy going into you, like his hands are full of sunshine. I hurt my wrist once, and that's what it felt like."

 

"So energy," Christine guesses, "that he transfers to the person he's healing."

 

"That would be essentially correct," Spock says.

 

"It's always been little things," Christine continues. "Scrapes, bruises, aches, things like that. He helped ease a patient's incision from surgery once, but I've never seen him do anything major before. As far as I'm aware, anyway."

 

Jim's paying attention now. "I don't think he can. We were talking one time, and he mentioned his dad who died when he was eighteen. Cancer, I think it was." He glances at Nyota for confirmation, and that's what she's understood from conversations with Elenora. "Bones said he could help make his dad comfortable, but there wasn't anything he could do for the actual cancer. Like there was a fail-safe that would prevent him from giving too much at any given time."

 

"Well, is it possible for him to overcome that fail-safe?" she asks. "Because let me tell you, Joanna should not be alive right now. She was covered with blood, and a child that small can't sustain that much blood loss."

 

Spock looks thoughtful. "Most of our talents manifest at puberty or in a time of duress."

 

"So it would make sense for Leonard to suddenly find a way to overcome his own limitations?" Christine asks.

 

"It's his daughter," Jim says. "Bones would give her the moon if he could."

 

"Or himself," Nyota adds. "Are you say that he's drained himself by saving Joanna's life?"

 

"Like a battery," Jim agrees.

 

"You can't recharge a battery," Nyota says, and she's feeling chilled all over again.

 

"Sure you can, if it's in a car," Jim tells her.

 

"Yes, but I suspect that applying jumper cables to Dr. McCoy will not result in the boost you'd desire to achieve," Spock says, and Nyota kicks at his shin. He blinks at her, slightly put out for a moment. "However, it may achieve the desired result in rousing him."

 

"If only," Christine says, and she's hiding a slight smile. "They're still running tests on Leonard as we speak, but I don't think they'll find anything useful that we can use to treat him. The current diagnosis is that he's in a coma, but seeing that there's no associated trauma involved, no one has any idea what to do for him."

 

"How do you recharge a human?" Jim asks.

 

They stare at each other for a long moment, as the activity on the other side of the waiting room continues. Nyota finds it distracting, and finally she sighs. "What can we do to help?"

 

"Right now? Support the family," Christine says with a long sigh. "I'm sure Dr. Boyce will say the same thing to Mrs. McCoy, but essentially we're going to keep Joanna overnight for observation, just in case. Her arm's still fractured, and it's being casted as we speak. Otherwise, she's fine. As for Leonard, well, hopefully he'll wake up."

 

Hope. It's the one thing that Nyota tries to keep in mind.

 

Elenora finally emerges almost an hour later, and it looks like she's aged a decade since the morning. She looks relieved to see them, and Nyota gets up to give the older woman an embrace.

 

"Thank you," Elenora murmurs, holding on for an extra moment.

 

"How are they?" Jim asks, coming up behind them. Spock's staying in his seat, but he's paying close attention to the conversation.

 

"They've got Joanna sedated for the moment," she says, keeping an arm around Nyota as if she needs the support. "I don't know if they're telling you anything, but they're keeping her here to see if everything's still all right. Lenny, on the other hand, is just... there."

 

"Perhaps you would prefer to have a cup of coffee?" Spock asks, finally getting up.

 

She looks at him for a long moment, and then she gives a sad smile. "I didn't even get to put your pie in the refrigerator. It's still sittin' out on the counter and spoiling."

 

"Come with me," Spock says, and takes Elenora's hand. "I have heard Leonard mention that the pie is decent here."

 

"We'll stay with them," Nyota says, as Jim nods eagerly.

 

"Thank you," Elenora says again. "They shouldn't chase you away, I've had Philip list you three as family."

 

The thought's appreciated, and Spock lead Elenora away once she's passed on the room number. Father and daughter are in the same room, so Nyota leads Jim there with a gentle hand on his arm.

 

"I hate hospitals," he whispers at one point.

 

"And you want to date a doctor," she teases.

 

Jim stiffens for a moment. "What? You..."

 

"Oh, sweetheart," Nyota sighs with a fond smile. "I might have extraordinary hearing, but that doesn't mean that I'm blind. You're good for each other, and who knows? Maybe what Leonard needs is his Prince Charming to kiss him awake."

 

"I might just try that," Jim says, and he's trying for his usual cheeky smile, but it's dimmed.

 

The first bed she sees when walking through the door is Leonard's, and her first thought is how still he is. Leonard's a tall man, but he doesn't take up much room compared to men of a similar height; where he differs from Spock is that he's always moving. His hands move when he speaks, he's shifting his weight from foot to foot, and his face is always shifting expressions even when he thinks he's keeping a straight face.

 

"He just looks like he's sleeping," Jim says, quietly.

 

"He might just be," Nyota says, matching his volume, and noticing how Leonard's face still looks worried. She pats his blanket-covered foot as she passes, and goes to sit next to Joanna's bed. Unlike her father, Joanna's sprawled carefully on the bed, with her casted left arm resting on her stomach. The whiteness of the plaster stands out in contrast to her skin and the drabness of the blanket. Nyota reaches over to adjust her blanket, and she's rewarded by Joanna slowly opening her eyes and blinking sleepily. "Hey, Jo, how are you feeling?"

 

There's a few more blinks that suggest that Joanna isn't completely awake. Her eyes are hazy, and when she smiles, it dissolves into a yawn. Her words are a mumble. "Where's my Gramma?"

 

"She's gone for something to eat," Nyota says, "but I'm here, and so's Jim."

 

Joanna glances over to spot him, and then her brow furrows. "Where's my daddy?"

 

"Over here," Jim tells her, where he's perched on Leonard's bed and holding his hand. From his white-knuckled grip, it's like he wants to will the life back into his body. "He's just sleeping right now, Joanna, and you should be, too."

 

"Don't wanna," she says, lower lip jutting out in a small approximation of Leonard's, but the effect is ruined as she yawns a second time.

 

She's looking forlorn, so Nyota moves to sit on the bed. Joanna shifts until she's leaning up against her, her body more pliant than usual from the sedatives. Nyota holds her close, and runs her fingers through her hair. It's tangled, which isn't unusual, so she gently works at the worst of it while trying to avoid pulling on the dark strands.

 

"How about if I tell you a story?" she asks.

 

"Okay," Joanna says.

 

"Well, once upon a time," she begins, "there was a young man named Spock. He lived with his mother and father in a far away place called Boston, and though his parents loved him very much, he knew he was different. He didn't look like anyone else, and even though that doesn't really mean very much in the world, everyone who met him thought he was kind of slow."

 

"That isn't nice," Joanna says, a little hotly.

 

"No, not at all, and very unfair, because the truth is that he was really very smart," Nyota tells her. "The problem with Spock was that he didn't like to talk very much, and he wanted to see what others were like before he decided to say anything. This mean that he didn't talk to a lot of people, so he didn't have very many friends."

 

"That's too bad," Joanna comments. "I'd like him."

 

"That's because you've got a good heart," Nyota says, squeezing her a bit for emphasis while being mindful of her arm. "One day, Spock decided he'd had enough of his life, and so he packed his bag, kissed his parents goodbye, and decided to go exploring. He wanted to see the world, and so he went."

 

She sees Jim watching them, like he's trying to parse something from her words.

 

"He went to see the places he'd heard so much about. He went to New York and saw the Statue of Liberty. He went to Washington and stood before the Lincoln Memorial. He went to every single place, hoping to find the answers to the questions he had, and you know what he found?"

 

Joanna peers up at her. "What?"

 

"Just more questions," Nyota says, and she really doesn't know where the story's going, but that's okay. "He began to realize that there's so much more to world that he ever imagined. He needed to start talking, and so he did. He talked to doctors and professors, and to regular people. He even talked to animals, and to the stars and the moon."

 

"What did they tell him?" Joanna asks, and she's starting to fade.

 

"That you don't need to go so far away to get answers," Nyota says, while leaning in to kiss her forehead. "So Spock came home, and went to school. That's where he met a young woman named Nyota."

 

Joanna's yawning, but she manages to say "that's you!" with relative clarity.

 

"That's right," Nyota says, "and so that's how I met Spock, and from there we came here and we met you."

 

"I like that story," Joanna says, and then suddenly she's quiet, for a long moment. "Nyota, can I tell you something?"

 

Nyota pauses, glances at Jim, and wonders if Joanna's forgotten he's there. "What is it, sweetheart?"

 

A small hand grasps hers, and Joanna looks smaller than she actually is. "I don't want to go back to school."

 

"You're in kindergarten, little girl, and the best years are ahead of you," Nyota says.

 

"They don't like me," Joanna says.

 

"I know," Nyota says quietly. "I don't think you'll be going to school for a few days. When things are calmer, let's talk with your gramma, okay?"

 

Joanna murmurs something, and then she's a warm weight against Nyota's side. She doesn't move, stroking the little girl's hair for a few long moments, and then she looks up to see Jim with his own sleeping McCoy. It's a strange bookend, and Nyota just meets his gaze for a few long moments.

 

"How much of that was true?" Jim asks.

 

"Some of it," she says. "Enough."

 

Jim nods, and they both settle back and wait.

 

~~~

 

One day, Hikaru worries, someone will see him flying. Someone other than his dad, that is, and since that conversation he's kept it low to the ground, and usually flies only in the evening. He finds he's got good vision, and he knows the way to Georgia like the back of his hand. As long as he avoids the regular flight routes, or skirts along them, he'll be fine.

 

He's excited as he sets down outside of Atlanta. He's got news, and he's determined to share them with Jim in person. He knows the shop is closed by now, and it's a short walk to the McCoy house from his landing point. Even though he knows Jim's got his own place, Hikaru usually finds his friend over there when he isn't at work. If Jim's not around, he can stay with Mrs. McCoy and visit for a few hours before Jim wanders by. It's a place Hikaru's come to love, and it's always a hub of activity and people stopping by.

 

This evening, though, it's quiet. The lights are off, there's only one car parked in the driveway instead of the usual two or three, and something about the situation has him nervous. He raps on the door, and waits. He thinks he sees some neighbours out, and they're not quite hiding the fact that they're watching.

 

The door swings open, and Joanna peers out. Her face looks bruised, and her arm is in a cast. When she recognizes him, she steps forward a bit.

 

"Hi, Hikaru," she says a little shyly.

 

"Hey, kiddo," Hikaru says, and crouches down to face her directly. He keeps his voice soft, and tries for a friendly smile. "I'm looking for Jim, is he around?"

 

She shakes her head. "No, he's at the hospital with my daddy."

 

"Is he okay?" Hikaru asks, uncertain for a moment who she's talking about.

 

"No," she says, and then she's starting to cry. She rubs at her reddened eyes, and then throws her arms around his neck. Her next words are rushed and muffled against his shirt. "There was an accident, and then we were at the hospital and I miss him. I don't want him to go like my mommy, too."

 

He doesn't know what to say, as he gets up to his feet while trying to keep a good grip on her. He's about to step past the threshold when he hears a voice from inside. "Joanna, who are you talking to?"

 

It's Nyota, and her hurried steps slow as she recognizes him. Her smile is relieved, and she gestures him in. "I didn't know you were coming by."

 

"I didn't exactly tell anyone," Hikaru says, shifting his grip on Joanna.

 

"Well, it's still good to see you," she says. "Spock's in the kitchen. We're just getting supper started. You're welcome to stay. I'm not sure what time Jim's stopping by, but it should be soon."

 

That clarifies things a bit, and then he notices the house isn't its usual tidy self. "Mrs. McCoy isn't here?"

 

"He's bringing her home," she says.

 

"Jim's really nice," Joanna tells him in a stuffy voice.

 

"He is," Hikaru agrees, and he catches Nyota's gaze. She wants to talk, but she doesn't want Joanna around at the moment.

 

"Joanna, how about you go wash your hands, and then come back and help us set the table?" Nyota says, turning her attention to the little girl.

 

"Sure," she says, and wiggles down from Hikaru's grasp to run upstairs.

 

"Come on." Nyota takes his hand, and guides him into the kitchen. Spock's in front of the counter, an apron around his waist as he works, and he nods a quick greeting. Nyota sits at the table, and gestures him to take one of the opposite chairs. "There was an accident last weekend. Joanna was hit by a car, and Leonard saved her life."

 

It's Thursday evening, and Hikaru contemplates that. He hasn't heard from Jim since the week before, and while they sometimes go weeks without talking, he's finding that he's worried about this. "I have the feeling this is more complicated than it sounds."

 

"Isn't it always?" she sighs. "Leonard's in the hospital. Whatever he did to help Joanna, it came at the expense of his own well-being. He's been in a coma since Saturday morning, and right now, the doctors don't know what's wrong with him. Elenora's been going in every day to sit with him, and the rest of us are taking turns watching Joanna."

 

They're quiet for a few moments, and Hikaru considers that for a few moments. "How can I help?"

 

"Take Jim home," she says. "He's running himself ragged. He drives Elenora in the morning, and then goes to work. He usually stops by here or goes into the hospital for noon, and then he's here every evening. I don't know if he's had a decent night's sleep since it happened."

 

"I can do that," Hikaru says.

 

"In the meantime," Spock says as he gestures to the vegetables lying on the counter, "I presume you are proficient with a knife."

 

They work together at putting dinner together, which ends up being vegetarian spaghetti, with a sauce so delicious that Hikaru almost forgets there isn't any meat in the recipe when he gets to sample a spoonful. Joanna comes down eventually, her face dry and a trembling smile on her face as she helps to the best her ability. Nyota directs everything, though she doesn't interfere with the cooking.

 

"So what do you do, anyway?" Hikaru asks Spock at one point. "I don't think anyone's actually told me before."

 

Spock stirs the pot while he waits for the pasta to finish cooking. "I am a researcher."

 

"What kind?" he asks.

 

"Science, mostly," Spock says. "I work independently, but I frequently work out of one of the local universities."

 

"Which one?" Hikaru presses, even more interested.

 

"Emory," Spock says.

 

"Is it a good place?" Hikaru asks. "Have you heard anything about the physics department?"

 

Spock glances at him, eyebrow raised. "I have heard many good things, in fact. Why is the origin of your curiosity?"

 

"Oh, just checking out a few things while I'm here," Hikaru says, and he's hesitant to say more. It's half the reason he's stopped by, and he takes the chopping board to the sink to clean it off. "I've got a few decisions to make and any information I can get is helpful."

 

"I am open to sharing anything you would like to know," Spock says, and he's going to say more when the front door opens.

 

Joanna takes off first, and Nyota follows to meet them. Hikaru stays where he is, and helps Spock put out the individual servings. He doesn't want to get in the way, and he's got the first few plates on the table when Jim wanders in.

 

"Hey, Spock, I..." Jim stops, looking startled as he realizes Hikaru's there. While he pauses, registering that he's not hallucinating, Hikaru takes a moment to look his friend over. Jim looks ragged, with a badly shaven jaw, shadows under his blue eyes, and his hair looks like he's being tugging at it. When he smiles, it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Did I forget you were coming by?"

 

He sounds so hesitant that Hikaru just waves the concern away. "No, this was a kind of impromptu visit. I'm glad I came by, though." He doesn't say that he wishes that Jim had called to share the news, but he's not going to blame him for the oversight. Instead, he goes over to give Jim a hug. "Whatever you're saying, I hope it's that you're staying for dinner."

 

Jim's face is looking indecisive as they pull back, but then his stomach gurgles. "Yeah, it smells great. What it is?"

 

"Spaghetti," Spock says, as he brings the last of the plates to the table.

 

"Nice look," Jim says, a shadow of his usual attitude present in his tone.

 

Mrs. McCoy comes in then, and she's looking even more weary than Jim. Joanna's leading her by the hand, and she's looking relieved that there's dinner already set out. Her expression softens as she recognizes Hikaru, and she accepts his embrace with a sigh.

 

"Thank you," she whispers. "I'm glad to see you."

 

Dinner is a mostly quiet affair. There's a quick update on Leonard's condition, where Jim shares that there's been no change either way, and then nothing much is said. Hikaru notices that Mrs. McCoy doesn't eat very much, while Jim cleans off his plate first. Spock is helping with Joanna's plate by cutting everything in smaller bites that she can eat without difficulty, and Nyota's watching over everyone with a intensely protective gaze.

 

"Where are you staying?" Mrs. McCoy asks when she finally pushes her plate away.

 

"With me," Jim says, even before Hikaru can open his mouth to reply. "My sofa's available."

 

"I don't want to impose," Hikaru adds, almost apologetically, because he knows how much Mrs. McCoy values hospitality. He smiles for emphasis.

 

She nods. "I expect to see more of you while you're here, am I clear?"

 

"Count on it," he tells her.

 

"Good," Mrs. McCoy says, and gives a fierce nod. "I like having my boys around." She pauses, and glances up at Nyota, catching her hand in a fond grasp. "All my kids, actually."

 

The rest of the evening is relatively quiet. Joanna insists on ice cream, and no one has the heart to refuse her. Before long, they're all calling it a night once the dishes are done and drying on the rack. Mrs. McCoy has Joanna wish them good night, and as she guides her upstairs, she smiles at them and reminds them to lock the door behind them.

 

"Oh, and Jim?" she quickly adds. "Scotty let me know earlier that he's taking me in tomorrow morning. Consider yourself off duty, and as much as I appreciate your company, I don't want to see you until the afternoon."

 

Jim's got a funny look on his face, but he nods. "Fine."

 

They see Spock and Nyota off, and then they walk to Jim's car which is parked on the street. Hikaru puts a hand on Jim's arm. "How about if I drive?"

 

It's a sign of how tired Jim is that he just hands the keys over without an argument. He doesn't say much as they drive, and leans against the door with his elbow as he watches the streets pass by. He finally sighs, and glances over.

 

"How long are you staying?" he asks.

 

Hikaru shrugs. "How long do you want me around?"

 

"However long you can stand to be here," Jim says, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You know, I'm glad you're here."

 

"I'm glad I happened by," Hikaru says.

 

They're in front of Jim's place by then, so Hikaru parks the car – thank god, no need for parallel parking since no one's there. He follows Jim's lead upstairs, and once they're in the apartment, he pretends not to notice as Jim circles the room and picks things up to throw in his bedroom.

 

"I'll get sheets later," he says, heading for the kitchen. He rummages through a cupboard and pulls out two glasses and a rectangular bottle. "But just in case that doesn't happen, there's a clean set in the closet by the bathroom. Drink?"

 

He's hundreds of miles from home and underage. Of course Hikaru says yes, though he has reservations. "That's not Everclear."

 

"And thank your taste buds it's not," Jim says. He pours two glasses of amber liquid, and slides one over. "I've started drinking whiskey since coming here. Bourbon's popular in these parts, but I'm not all that fond of it. Bones says there's good stuff, but I've yet to find it. Tennessee whiskey, though? That's something I understand."

 

They share a shot, and it slides down Hikaru's throat in a warm burn as he swallows. He grimaces, and pushes his glass back toward Jim. "So tell me what's happened. Nyota just gave me the barest details."

 

"Sure," Jim says, and quickly pours a second shot that's more of a slosh than anything methodical. He doesn't wait for Hikaru to reach for his glass when he downs it, and smacks his lips, considering his words.

 

He quickly understands that Jim actually saw what happened, and even then, as Jim talks, Hikaru knows that he's withholding a few details. He doesn't press though, and listens until Jim breaks off his description of Leonard putting his hands on his daughter's broken body with the determination to pull her from the brink of death. He clears his throat, and rubs at his face with one hand while he pours another drink.

 

"I think we're doing this wrong," Hikaru finally says. "I think the guy who's listening is supposed to pour."

 

"We'll trade if we end up opening a second bottle," Jim says as he sets the bottle down, "but there's something that's on my mind that I haven't shared with anyone. We all know that Bones can heal, that it's a matter of somehow transferring energy from himself to another person to help them out. He's done that for all of us at one point or another."

 

"I always assumed that was the extent of his mutation," Hikaru says, "even though I never really thought about it that much."

 

"Yeah, me neither," Jim says slowly. "I guess extreme emotion can trigger something, because I've never seen him like that. He was so focused, so determined. I didn't know what he was doing, actually, and I tried to push him away so the ambulance guys could help."

 

"I'd probably do the same thing," Hikaru tells him.

 

"Well, he pushed me away," Jim says. He finishes his drink and immediately pours another. "Not with his hands, not really. He shoved me away with energy, like he threw it from his fingers to keep me away."

 

Hikaru blinks. "That's new."

 

"I know," Jim says, and with his glass set on the table, he's slowly rubbing his hands together. "And now Bones is lying in a hospital bed. We think he's drained himself, and I can't help think that I'm part of the cause. If I hadn't tried to interfere, maybe he'd be at home with his kid instead of lying in a hospital bed."

 

"You can't know that," Hikaru says.

 

"No?" Jim's smile is bitter.

 

"Unless you've suddenly acquired the talent to see multiple possibilities," Hikaru says, in his most rational voice, "then you have no idea. Maybe Leonard would still be the way he is. You were just trying to help, Jim. You're a good person, even if you're sometimes insufferable. I know you, man. When Len wakes up, I'm willing to bet he's not going to hold anything against you."

 

Jim sighs. "I hope not."

 

"He won't," Hikaru repeats. "I like Len. He's kind of reasonable when he's not being insufferable like someone else I know."

 

"That a fact?" Jim asks, and his shoulders finally relax. He finally ushers them out of the kitchen toward the living room, and brings the whiskey with them. "Enough about me. So what brings you here? You missed my handsome face?"

 

"Hardly," Hikaru says, but he's relieved to see that the Jim he knows is still there beneath the exhaustion. "I'm checking out my options. I applied to Emory for the winter term, and they've given me an offer. I'm thinking about accepting but I wanted to talk with you first."

 

"Now that is a real reason for a toast," Jim declares, and he leans over to put more whiskey in his glass. It's a messier pour, and Hikaru leans forward to swipe at the drops with his sleeve. "Congratulations, Hikaru."

 

They toast, but Hikaru only sips at his drink.

 

"What do you want to take?" Jim asks, and he's curious.

 

"Physics." Hikaru smiles as he thinks about his plans. "It's the space race. It's made me interested in what's up there. I can only go so high when I fly, but I figured that maybe, if everything works out, I might be able to go up there, too."

 

"In space?" Jim asks, smiling.

 

"Yeah, and the moon," Hikaru grins suddenly. "They're supposed to get there next year, you know. Can you imagine it? Actual human beings stepping on another planet. Sounds like something out of a science fiction story, doesn't it?"

 

"Like this show I watch with Joanna," Jim says. "You know, there was this episode where the spaceship managed to travel back in time to nowadays. They picked up this pilot because they'd accidentally destroyed his fighter plane. Sometimes I wish something like that would happen, and they could just take everyone I know to this better place where everyone's friendly and all the bullshit we go through nowadays just doesn't matter anymore."

 

"So what happened to the pilot?" Hikaru asks.

 

"Well, they were going to bring him back with them, but then they realized that his kid down the road would be important in getting humanity into space," Jim says. "Problem was, the kid's not born yet, so they brought him back to the moment before he was taken aboard. He just doesn't remember anything about meeting them."

 

"That's not really fair," Hikaru says. "If I knew the future was going to be this awesome thing, I'd want to remember it."

 

"So would I," Jim sighs, "but since when is life fair?"

 

Even though it's still relatively early, Jim starts to nod off soon after, and Hikaru eases him up and into his bedroom. He deposits his friend on the covers, makes an effort only to pull off his socks, and then closes the door. He makes his own bed on the sofa, and watches the television. He's pretty sure he happens upon that science fiction show Jim mentioned earlier, and he's impressed when he sees an Asian guy doing something unconventional on the screen. Even though he's not sure what's going on, he still sits there until the episode finishes.

 

When he finally sleeps, he dreams of flying in the stars.

 

He's woken up by Jim's careful footsteps going into the kitchen. From the way he's squinting and refilling his coffee several times, he's probably fighting at least a mild hangover. They're quiet during breakfast, and then they head out together to the shop. Since Scotty's taking Mrs. McCoy to the hospital, Jim has to open. They slide in just before the first customer is due to arrive with their car, and Hikaru helps out where he can to get things ready. He's looking forward to applying what he knows about cars, and he's put to work almost right away.

 

Scotty comes in soon after, while they've both go their heads under the hood. Hikaru ducks out, leaving Jim to go greet him. It's clear that Scotty's happy to see him, and he claps Hikaru on the arm.

 

"You've got good timing, lad," Scotty says, with a glance toward Jim that isn't quite able to hide his concern. "There's lots of work to do."

 

"Whatever you need," Hikaru says. "I'm here for a few days, at least."

 

Although Scotty isn't saying it, Hikaru quickly guesses that the extra work is because Jim's not quite himself. He's noticed that over the course of the morning that while Jim's still his professional and personable self, he's not as thorough as usual. If picking up the slack is his way of helping out, Hikaru's more than happy to help tide things over.

 

They have a late lunch, leaving Scotty alone in the shop as Jim drags Hikaru back over to the McCoys. There's a brief stop en route, mostly to get their own food and to pick up a little treat for Joanna. Jim seems to brighten up as he comes back with small paper bags, and the mood holds until they reach the house.

 

Joanna's waiting for them on the front step, and as soon as they pull up, she jumps up to greet them. She's a lot happier than the night before, and the difference is almost startling. Her eyes are wide and excited, and when she grins, they can see she's missing a new tooth. It makes her lisp a bit when she speaks.

 

"Come on!" she says as she grabs both of their hands to drag them up the sidewalk. "You need to come see! Daddy's home!"

 

Jim nearly stumbles on the first step. "Wait, what? When?"

 

"You're slow," Joanna huffs, and then relents a bit. She's still determined to drag them up the steps, and once they pass the threshold, she bounces in place as she waits for them to take off their shoes. "Daddy woke up this morning, so Spock went to go get him because Dr. Boyce says he's okay and just needs to come home and get better here."

 

"Joanna!" Mrs. McCoy sounds like she's in the living room, and her voice is carrying more relief than reprisal. "Bring it down a notch, and give the poor men some space so they can come in and see what you're talking about."

 

"Sorry," Joanna mumbles, but that doesn't stop her from dragging Jim forward once he's barefoot. Hikaru follows a few steps behind them, wondering if he should just hang back for the moment. "Daddy, Jim's here to see you."

 

There's a low rumbling laugh from the chesterfield. Hikaru comes around to see Len sitting on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He's surprised to see how different the older man seems. Len looks gaunt compared to his normal self, and while he's smiling at them, the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes. He seems weary that suggests it goes beyond bone deep, and there's something about him that suggests that being awake is just a temporary thing.

 

"Thank you, sweetpea," Len says, his voice holding a low rasp that Hikaru doesn't remember hearing.

 

Joanna smiles and then ducks under her dad's arm. She's watching carefully as Jim takes one of the footstools and brings it so close that he's almost touching Len's knees. Hikaru takes the chair across the room, and when he gazes Len's gaze, it's just for a moment. Len offers him a faint smile before his attention is drawn to Jim.

 

"I think I owe you an apology," Len says, and this time when his mouth quirks up, the emotion reaches his eyes.

 

"For pushing me away?" Jim asks. Like the night before, he's rubbing his hands together, and Hikaru's pretty sure it's not a conscious action.

 

"Yeah." Len's mouth twists slightly. "I didn't really mean to do that, and it just... happened."

 

Jim waves the words away, and reaches for Len's left hand. He grasps it tightly between his and smiles. "You're awake and that's all that matters."

 

"Awake for now," Joanna says in a bit of a sing-song voice. "Daddy's going to need a lot of naps."

 

"I'm not the only one who'll be napping," Len tells her, flicking gently at her nose, and then focuses on Jim again. "I'm probably pushing the limits right now, but I haven't been awake for long periods. This is the longest I've been awake, but I'll probably fall asleep soon. If I do, don't take it personally."

 

"The battery's still recharging," Jim says.

 

Len blinks slowly. "What's that?"

 

"You," Jim tells him. "You're a battery, Bones, and you're recharging."

 

"So maybe I just need a boost," Len says, and then he's yawning, eyelids suddenly sliding shut. His head drops down for a moment before he jerks up slightly, forcing his eyes wide. When he smiles this time, it's bitter. "Speaking of which...."

 

"Then we'll let you sleep," Mrs. McCoy declares, getting out of her chair to herd Joanna up from the sofa. "You boys are staying for lunch?"

 

Hikaru rises to follow her. "Yes, ma'am."

 

"Then come help," she says, and her voice is unusually firm.

 

He falls into step behind her, but a few moments later, he realizes there isn't anyone behind him. Hikaru lingers at the door, glancing back to see that Jim hasn't moved. He's still parked in front of Len, and while Len's still awake, it's only for a few more moments.

 

"You won't be able to get rid of me, Bones," Jim's saying, in a determined voice that Hikaru can barely hear. "We're going to get through this, okay?"

 

Len looks at him with exhausted hazel eyes, and as he smiles, he touches his other hand to Jim's cheek. "I never wanted to do that in the first place."

 

The smile Jim gives him is brilliant.

 

~~~

 

On the first Sunday night after the accident, Jim called his mother. He hadn't talked to her for a while, and it's always an awkward affair when he tries to sit in the kitchen chair, dial her number, and wait for her to pick up. The last time, they'd ended in an argument, but on that particular night, he was too exhausted to put up much resistance.

 

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately. "Is it Sam?"

 

Jim heaved a sigh even though he didn't want to, and wished he'd picked up some food on the way home. He just had some blackened bananas he'd gag down and pieces of bread that needed the crust picked off. The peanut butter was the only really edible thing in his entire kitchen. "No."

 

"Then what?" she said, and for once she wasn't berating him for never calling and withheld her usual questions about when he's coming back to Iowa.

 

He felt the fatigue in his voice as he told her about Bones and Joanna, and how he spent more time at the hospital in the last two days than he has in his entire life. Winona knew something about the McCoys, and the small community that Jim's joined since arriving in Georgia. He'd never shared what he feels about Bones, but he eventually realized that she knew anyway. Some kind of bizarre mother's instinct still honed razor-sharp even now.

 

"I'm going to go back after work tomorrow," he said as he brought the receiver over to the counter. The cord was long enough, and there wasn't anyone who'd trip over it.

 

"You really care for him," Winona says.

 

Jim made a face, pretty sure it's the one from his teenaged years when his mother was being particularly poignant. He also wasn't sure how to continue. There were many things he knew Winona would tolerate, but this was one he wasn't certain about. He'd never say he was in love with another man, and yet he was beginning to see that Winona didn't seem to care. He focused on salvaging the food, and picked at every spot of mold from his bread. He wasn't as careful with the bananas, but that was all right. “Well, yeah.”

 

"Then I hope it's mutual," she said, and Jim paused in his preparations. He wasn't expecting that, but he felt a kind of relief he didn't realize he wanted to experience. "I also hope he comes out of it okay, Jimmy. Be sure to let me know when he wakes up, you hear?"

 

That was almost two months ago, and Jim's been in touch with her almost every week since. It's nice to have someone to talk to where he can be vulnerable, because he's so tired of being the strong one. Well, he doesn't actually mind, but he's so tired of smiling and pretending that nothing's wrong.

 

If only that were true.

 

It's easy to get used to Bones sleeping everywhere. He naps almost constantly, and Jim thinks the record of being awake is something like ninety minutes. Bones falls asleep on the couch, at the kitchen table, and on the porch. He even fell asleep on the backyard swing once, and woke himself up when he fell off. Everyone takes it in stride when he dozes off mid-conversation, and everyone has their own way of waking him up when it's time to move him or feed him.

 

Jim's favourite way is to burrow in and kiss him, providing there's not an audience.

 

As the weeks pass, however, it doesn't seem like Bones is making much progress. He still sleeps a good portion of the day, and efforts at doing anything physical leave him drained. The best he can do are a few chores around the house, and playing with Joanna. Work is out of the question, because just pushing Joanna on the swing for fifteen minutes means Bones is napping for a good two or three hours afterwards.

 

Jim doesn't want to ask, but he's beginning to wonder about the McCoys' finances. There's ways of helping without offending Elenora's pride: groceries that can be brought, the car filled up with gas, and when Joanna goes through another growth spurt, there's new clothes that fit. Jim's certain that Elenora's aware of what they're doing, and while her mouth tightens every now and again, she says nothing.

 

Exactly.

 

Hikaru's accepted the offer of admission from Emory, and the plan at the moment is that he'll move into Jim's apartment. They're agreed to a fifty-fifty agreement, but Jim's been toying with the idea of offering to move into the McCoy basement. It's small, and not entirely convenient, but it would help with Elenora's expenses and that way Bones would never be left alone.

 

He hasn't asked yet, but it's a plan.

 

It's mid-Saturday afternoon when he stops by the McCoys, and as he sticks his head in the door, he's greeted almost immediately by Elenora. She looks relieved to see him, and gives him a quick hug. “I was just about to call you to come over.”

 

"What's up?" he asks.

 

"I have to take Joanna out," she says, "and I don't want to leave Lenny alone. He's asleep on the sofa again. Can you keep an eye on him until we get back? Shouldn't be longer than an hour or two. Three at the latest."

 

“Sure,” Jim says, because any opportunity to spend alone time with Bones isn't something he'll pass on.

 

Jim wanders in to the living room where Joanna's sitting in front of the television, with her back pressed to the foot of the sofa. She looks up as Jim enters, and presses a finger to her lips. Jim nods to show that he understands, and plunks down beside her. Bones is snoring softly behind them, bundled in his usual blanket.

 

"I think your gramma wants to go out with you," Jim whispers to her.

 

"Okay," she whispers back. "Take care of my daddy while I'm gone?"

 

He holds up a hand. "Scout's honour."

 

Joanna grins as she throws her arms around Jim's neck, and then she's off. Jim stays where he is until he hears the front door close and the car drive away. He waits another moment before getting up on his knees, and then prodding Bones on the shoulder.

 

He makes a noise of protest, and burrows in a little deeper into the blankets.

 

"Bones," Jim says. "Bones, Bones, Bones... wake up, Bones."

 

He finally gets a weary sigh, and he's awarded by Bones finally looking at him. "You might actually be more annoying than my daughter."

 

"Well, said daughter is out of the house right now," Jim says, "and so's your mother. I figured we could do a bit of hanging out."

 

"Do we have to?" Bones asks.

 

"Absolutely," Jim says.

 

Bones groans, but he's shifting onto his side so they're facing each other. There's a crease on his cheek, and his hair is hanging into his eyes, way more shaggy than he'd let himself normally be. He also haven't shaved for a few days, so what would've been a generous helping of stubble now looks more like a beard than ever before. Jim doesn't care, and leans in for a soft kiss.

 

It's a better way of saying hello, and while it's chaste, Jim finishes it with a soft nip to Bones' lower lip. He can't help the smile, not caring that it probably makes him look stupid. "Hi."

 

"So you're babysitting me now?" Bones asks.

 

"Definitely not, because that would be kind of weird and very disturbing," Jim says.

 

"Ah." Bones frowns. "So where did they go?"

 

"I don't know exactly, but they're out," Jim says. "How are you feeling?"

 

For most people, Bones would smile hollowly and say something about feeling better and thanks for asking. Jim's heard it so many times that he can pick out the false cheer overlaying the truth, and he wants to grit his teeth because of it. For Jim, however, Bones sighs and reaches for Jim's hand, bringing it to his chest in a tight grip.

 

"I'm so tired," he says, and his voice cracks as he speaks. His eyes look darker than normal because of the circles under his eyes that never used to be there. "So goddamn tired, Jim. I feel like I'm sleeping my life away, but I'm too numb to really care about it. If I feel anything, I'm angry. I might be losing my internship because I'm in no condition to work, and that's depressing me to think about. I'm furious this happened, that my little girl nearly died because two little assholes chased her and terrorized her into running across a busy street to get away from them. But I can't be angry for long, because then I get tired again and I'm numb all over again."

 

That might be the longest thing Bones has said in weeks, and it's left him winded. He's pale, and he'd look pitiful if it weren't for the two blotches of fever-bright emotion in his cheeks. Jim doesn't react to the outburst, and gives him a few moments to calm himself. He lets Bones keep his hand, and uses the other one to brush his hair back from his eyes.

 

"It'll get better," Jim finds himself promising, and he leans in to kiss that down-turned mouth again. He keeps it gentle, and brushes the hair from Bones' forehead. He smiles when he moves back, and he finds that he believes what he says. "I know it's slow, but you're doing better than last month. It has to get better, Bones."

 

"Will it?" Something's changing Bones' expression, like a butterfly trying to escape a cocoon, and Jim wants to hold it in his hands and keep it safe.

 

"I'm here, aren't I?" He can't help the false bravado, but it's all he's got.

 

"You are," Bones says, and he shifts back until he's pressed against the back of the couch, and he's tugging Jim with him. "I'm not pushing you away again. Keep kissing, hotshot."

 

Never one to ignore an invitation, Jim settles himself down in front of Bones. There's barely enough room, but they fit together, just like always. The blanket's between them, but they're able to make a tangle of themselves despite it. The kissing continues, with all the tongue and lip that Jim's come to appreciate about making out with Bones, but he's not sure what they're doing otherwise. He keeps it easy, enjoying the experience all the while he waits for the inevitable moment when Bones thinks he's a narcoleptic and falls asleep.

 

He must be doing something wrong, because Bones pulls away, and his eyes are narrowed with frustration. He pokes at Jim's chest with a long finger, but the proximity means it's not with as much venom as it might have otherwise.

 

"What are you doing?" he demands.

 

"Kissing you...?" Jim asks.

 

"Obviously," Bones says, "but stop being so careful. I'm not going to break."

 

"I know you're not," Jim says, rolling his eyes but he's not the only one who's aware that Bones has lost weight since the accident. He's heard the concern in Elenora's voice as when she prods Bones awake so he could eat something. He's still broad-shouldered, but there's not much to support that. "I just don't want to get something started and then you just fall asleep on me."

 

He's trying to sound lighthearted, but Bones' expression is starting to darken even further.

 

Jim sighs. "Don't get mad at me, man. I'm sorry, but tell you what. If you want more, I'll give you more."

 

"Good," Bones says, and then suddenly he's shoving and Jim finds himself dumped on the floor. He hadn't seen that coming, and just as he's about to protest, very loudly, on behalf of his possibly bruised ass, Bones grins over the edge of the sofa. "My bedside table, now. Go get the tube that's in the drawer, and you'd better be naked when you get back."

 

It's the most forward thing he's ever said, and Jim doesn't care. He doesn't really consider the issue of being naked in Elenora's living room with her son. He's up the stairs, rummages in Bones' room, and gets the prize. He pauses in the doorway, taking the moment to yank off his shirt and pull off his pants, and he's mindful enough to keep them nearby before facing Bones.

 

This is possibly the hottest thing he's ever done.

 

Bones sits on the edge of the sofa, his own clothes discarded on the nearby chair. As Jim watches, he takes his blanket and lays it on the ground, covering the carpet in a slight nod to sanitation. Then he's sitting down, all elbows and knees, and he reaches for Jim's hand to tug him down after him.

 

This time, they're all over each other, and Jim's groaning as Bones latches onto a spot on his shoulder, sucking and biting until there's a mark that'll purple hours later. Jim's mouth can't do more than moan, but his hands are busy with all the bare skin that he can touch. He finally can't stand it anymore and he turns them so he's above Bones and taking over the show.

 

"You okay?" he asks, because he needs to know.

 

Bones' smile is sweet. "Yeah."

 

"Okay."

 

Jim nods to himself, and then he's getting busy. He can feel how hard Bones is without even looking down, so he shifts until he's kneel between Bones' open thighs. He arranges them so he's got easy access to his ass, and then coats his fingers with lube. Bones is watching him the entire time, and then he squirms as Jim trails one finger up the curve of his cock – because, really, he can't resist – before moving his hand to slip his fingers into his ass.

 

They've never done this before, and Jim's not sure why now's the best time other than the rare opportunity where there's no one else around. He's not going to think about it, and he loves the sound that Bones makes. The moan's from the back of his throat, surprised and pleased and aroused all at once, and Jim wants to hear it all over again. When he's sure that Bones is as relaxed as he might be, Jim slicks himself up and then eases himself in.

 

Bones looks shocked for a moment, as Jim pauses to give him a moment, and they stare at each other for a long moment before one of Bones' feet is suddenly nudging at his ass.

 

"Impatient," Jim chides, knowing that his grin is ruining the impact.

 

"Slow," Bones shoots back.

 

"I know you are," Jim grins, and then starts rocking.

 

It's not the best sex that Jim's ever had, but he's loving the moment. He can feel Bones everywhere, especially as he's tugged down toward Bones' mouth to keep kissing. He feels like everything that he is, from body to soul, is being pulled down into the man he's currently fucking, and it's amazing and wonderful and he doesn't really want it to stop.

 

He thinks he's coming too soon, so he reaches between them, pausing just for a moment, to grasp Bones' cock to stroke him through. They don't come at the same time, with Jim having the lead by several long seconds, but he has enough presence of mind to jerk his hand on Bones to coax him through.

 

He's lying on top of Bones in the aftermath, trying to catch his breath against the damp skin of his neck, and then he has to shift so he's more sprawled, slipping out of his body. It wouldn't do to crush him to death, that would be hard to explain, and then he can't help the light-headed giggling that comes afterwards.

 

"What's so funny?" Bones asks, and he's slurring his words. He pats Jim on the shoulder, or tries to because it feels like an awkward tap instead.

 

"Can you breathe?" Jim asks instead.

 

Bones makes an agreeable sound, but Jim knows the signs that he's about to fall asleep again. He leans up to press a kiss to the side of Bones' mouth, and watches the little smile that forms. There's a box of tissues nearby, so Jim peels himself away and cleans them up.

 

"Come on, we can't leave you like this for your mom to find," Jim says, and it's like manoeuvring a giant child off the floor. Bones tries, but he's not really helping as Jim hauls him up and onto the edge of the sofa. He sits still, listing forward and trying to move limbs as Jim tugs on his shirt and pants. It takes longer than Jim would like, and he's half tempted to just give up. "It's a good thing I love you for more than your ass, you know."

 

Bones manages to open his eyes for a few moments. "I'm glad you're here."

 

"Me, too," Jim says, and by the time he has the blanket back over Bones, he's asleep.

 

It doesn't take long to pull on his own clothes, and then he's getting rid of the evidence in the bathroom. He glances at himself in the mirror for a long moment, and finds that he doesn't really look like he's just had sex. He presses against the mark that he knows is on his shoulder, and grins at the sting.

 

With nothing better to do, he decides to head back to the living room and curls up against Bones on the couch again. Bones doesn't even stir, and Jim rests his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes. He's not sure if he'll even be able to sleep, but the closeness is something he's really appreciating at the moment.

 

To his surprise, he wakes up with his face mashed into a cushion, and the blanket drawn over him. Jim lays there for a moment, and realizes that he's alone. He listens, and there's the sound of movement in the kitchen. There's water running in the sink, and pots and pans being moved.

 

He's expecting Elenora, so he's shocked into stillness when he finds Bones in front of the stove. Jim stands in the doorway, watching for a long moment, and he's just about to draw attention to himself when Bones turns and startles.

 

"Warn a person," Bones snaps, but it's hard to take someone serious with a frilly apron around their waist. He's also shaved, and for the first time in weeks, he's wearing actual clothes instead of pyjamas or sweats.

 

"How long was I sleeping?" Jim asks, slipping into the nearest chair.

 

"About an hour," Bones says, focusing on the stove again.

 

"Ah." Jim leans back, waiting, and finally says what he's really thinking. “You're looking good."

 

Bones glances over his shoulder. "I do?"

 

"On your feet is a good look on you," he teases, "though maybe not as a good as on your back."

 

Bones' cheeks redden, and then he shrugs a little sheepishly. "Well, yeah, I guess we found out how to recharge my battery."

 

"We did?" Jim can't help the grin, or the dirty chuckle that escapes him. "Really."

 

"Really." Bones is smiling, too. Jim can hear it in his voice.

 

"Is this a one-time cure, or something that requires repeated application?" Jim asks. "Because if it's the latter, you know, I'm up for it. I'm dedicated and reliable, and available whenever you need me."

 

"And you don't come with side-effects," Bones says. "Now, you're not just going to sit there. There's some vegetables in the fridge that need chopping, and you're the man of the hour."

 

If that's the price to pay for fixing things, Jim doesn't mind. By the time Joanna and Elenora come home, dinner's almost ready, and Jim takes over the stove as Bones is swarmed by his relieved family. It's what everyone's been hoping and praying for, and it's pretty clear everyone thinks life is going to get back to normal.

 

But it doesn't.

 

Not really.

 

~~~

 

**July 20, 1969**

 

It's been four days of excitement, like an extended Christmas Eve for the entire planet. The television's been on every single hour that anyone's awake, and Jim is pretty sure that he's never watched this much news before in his entire life. Ever since the Apollo 11 mission launched from Cape Kennedy, everyone's waiting with bated breath as the spacecraft has made its slow progress to the moon.

 

The landing's scheduled for four o'clock Atlanta time, and there's a party planned so everyone can watch. Elenora's been up since dawn getting everything prepared, and since the moment Jim and Hikaru passed the threshold sometime around eleven, she’s put them to work by moving the good furniture into the living room in anticipation of the day’s events.

 

“Where's Bones?” Jim asks when he has an opportunity to catch a breath. He sticks his head in the kitchen, where Elenora has Joanna working, and he takes the moment to reach for one of the cookies cooling on the rack. He gets a blow to the knuckles with a wooden spoon for his troubles. It doesn't really hurt, but it's enough to make him jump even though he sees it coming. “Hey, ow.”

 

Elenora has an evil smile. “You'll spoil your appetite. Lenny was called into work last night, and he isn't sure when he'll be home.”

 

He catches a disappointed look on Joanna’s face that she’s trying to hide, and to be honest, he’s not all that surprised at the news. One of Bones’ biggest worries was that he’d have to restart his internship, or lose the placement entirely because of his two months of sick leave. The news that Dr. Boyce had kept his position open was enough to make Bones tear up, though he’d tried to keep a calm face in front of his peers. Only later, when he was alone with Jim, did he allow himself to be held while he trembled in relief.

 

What that means, however, is that Bones always takes up the slack. Night shifts, weekends, and holiday, those are often the shifts he ends up getting, and he doesn’t complain.

 

Even when it’s a day that means so much to his daughter.

 

Jim sticks his knuckle in his mouth, pretending that his finger hurts more than it actually does, and turns what he hopes is a pitiful look to Joanna. “Your grandmother wields a nasty spoon, Jo.”

 

“You haven't figured that out yet?” Joanna asks, raising an eyebrow just like her dad as though she's been practising. He's not likely to get pity from this quarter.

 

“Well, you know, sometimes us old people need reminders about these kinds of things,” Jim says.

 

“Speak for yourself,” Elenora says. “Now go on and help Hikaru finish. I want everything set up before Nyota and Spock arrive, not to mention the Chekovs.”

 

She shooes him out before he can reply, but the rest of the preparations go smoothly. By the time they're finished, they get to sit on the porch for a few minutes, sipping sweet tea and waiting for the first of the guests to show up. Joanna's leaning against Jim, kicking her legs out, and then she looks up at Jim.

 

“Do you think they'd let people like me up into space?” she asks.

 

Jim pauses, setting down his glass. “What do you mean?”

 

“Because I'm different,” she says.

 

It's an anxiety that's become more and more common place since the accident last year. She doesn’t voice it very often, but if she does, it’s usually to Jim. Sometimes she’ll share her worry with Bones, but that doesn’t happen often. He’s not usually home for starters, and the other problem is that Bones isn’t always predictable in his reaction, either. Most of the time he’s been supportive, and even though it’s clear he doesn’t really believe it anymore, he promises her that her eye colour is the last thing in the world that’ll count against her in the long run.

 

Sometimes, he just doesn't answer her at all.

 

Jim's approach is a bit different, and he puts his arm around her shoulders to draw her in for a hug. “If you're the best at your job, no one should be able to say anything against you.”

 

“I don't get picked for the teams at school even though I can play just as good as the boys,” she says. “I'm always the last one picked.”

 

He hears the hurt in her voice, and it breaks his heart. Jim glances up at Hikaru for silent support, and sees the knowing look on his face. He offers Jim a brief smile. “We’re going to let you in on a little secret, Joanna. Kids are kind of stupid. I mean, not every kid, because you certainly aren’t, but the ones who are mean and awful? They get their comeuppance one day.”

 

“What’s comeuppance?” she asks.

 

“They get what they deserve,” Jim tells her.

 

From the expression on her face, she's thinking about the boys down the street. “They do?”

 

“That’s right,” Hikaru promises as he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. University life's been good to him, and he's looking more relaxed despite the insane schedule of classes he's doing. He's also taken up piloting, and he's said that he'll take Jim and Joanna both flying once he has his full license. Joanna's thrilled, but Bones hasn't made his mind up yet. “The ones who used to tease me for being Asian are still stuck in their petty little lives, while I'm the road to something wonderful here. I think that's more than fair, if you ask me.”

 

“I guess so,” she says, a little slowly, but then Nyota's car is pulling into the driveway. Joanna's off to greet them as soon as their doors open, going to collect bags from Nyota's arms to help them go inside. “Spock, Spock! Gramma says that the barbecue's ready for you in the back.”

 

Spock thanks her with a quiet nod before heading off into the house. Jim watches him go, and tries not to make a face. The barbecue was a point of a contention the other day when Elenora informed them in a voice that left no room for argument that Spock was in charge of the hot dogs. He still wants to grumble, especially since Spock’s not even going to eat them, but there’s no point in arguing a moot point. Besides, unlike the other day, Bones isn’t around to pull him into a private corner to soothe his wounded masculinity with a strategic kiss.

 

He holds the door open as Joanna comes past with the bags, but there’s something a little different about Nyota today. Jim can’t put his finger on it, and shrugs it off as she steps past him. She pauses for a moment, glancing back at the driveway, and then murmurs, “Isn’t Leonard here today?”

 

“No,” Jim says, equally hushed. “He had to go into work.”

 

“That's too bad,” she says, with a hint of a sigh in her voice. “Maybe later, then. Is Joanna doing all right?”

 

“I think she'll be fine,” Jim says. “As soon as the landing happens, she'll forget that Bones isn't here.”

 

“Don't be so sure,” Nyota says.

 

She keeps going, but Jim doesn't have time to consider what she means because he's just spotted Pavel heading over with his parents. They all have their arms full of dishes meant to complement the spread that Elenora has placed out in the living room. Jim gets a tantalizing smell of cabbage rolls and something else he can't really identify as they come past him. Dr. Chekov isn't a big man, but he's got a warm smile as he passes by with a heavily accented greeting. Mrs. Chekov is quieter, and although she doesn't say much, Jim knows she’s sometimes over talking with Elenora and that she’s grateful to have friends in a country that automatically views her with suspicion because of her country of origin.

 

She also likes Jim, and he can't fault her for that.

 

“I brought extra cabbage rolls just for you, Jim,” she promises in a careful tone, her blue eyes twinkling.

 

“ _Spasiba_ ,” he thanks her with the one polite Russian word he knows. Most of the other words Pavel's taught him in the last few months aren't really repeatable in polite company. Although his accent's thicker than mud, Mrs. Chekov grins and heads into the house. Pavel follows with his arms full of even more dishes, rolling his eyes as he goes.

 

“What is it with people trying to feed you?” Hikaru demands from his chair. “You just blink those big, stupidly blue eyes at people, and it's like they're suddenly compelled to stuff you full of wholesome food.”

 

“I have that effect on people,” Jim says, affecting a pretty pathetic version of the Southern drawl as he sprawls back in his seat.

 

“Is that the story with Len?” Hikaru teases.

 

Jim offers him a one-fingered salute as he resumes his watch over the yard. While he's sure Elenora isn't expecting anyone else, he's still hoping that Bones will work a miracle and show up before show time. He's got about forty-five minutes, but Jim isn't going to hold his breath. Instead, he watches as another car pulls onto their block and slows almost immediately as it approaches the house. This one has New York plates, and it comes to a stop right behind Nyota's sedan.

 

“I thought everyone's here,” Hikaru says.

 

"They are." Jim gets to his feet, ambling to the railing to watch.

 

“Maybe they're going to someone else's house?” Hikaru suggests.

 

"Maybe," Jim repeats, but he's got this strange tickling feeling in his brain. It feels familiar, and while he can't get a good look at the inside of the car, he can sense the intention of the moment. "I have the feeling they're not, and I think they might be one of us."

 

 _Splendid observation,_ he hears inside his mind. _If you'll allow us a few moments, young Jim, we'll be able to speak face to face._

 

"I'll be damned," Jim says aloud.

 

"What?" Hikaru's on his feet, too, and they watch as a red-headed kid gets out of the driver's seat. He can't be much older than Jim, and when he sees them watching, he grins. "Who's that?"

 

"The kid? No idea," Jim says, "but that's Charles Xavier inside the car."

 

Hikaru's eyes widen. "For real?"

 

"Yeah," Jim says, starting down the steps. "Go tell Elenora we've some extra guests, okay?"

 

The kid's busy in the trunk, and he pulls out a fancy-looking wheelchair. Jim slows for a moment, eyeing the device, and then goes to the rear right-hand door. "Fancy meeting you down in these parts, Professor."

 

He sees the same cheerful face, just slightly older, looking up at him. "Hello, Jim. I could say the same about you. I'm afraid that I am imposing slightly on the occasion, but I understand there's quite a gathering today. I thought I could take advantage of the opportunity to meet everyone."

 

"About what?" Jim asks, and then eyes the chair for a moment. "Can I give you a hand with something?"

 

Xavier looks appreciative. "Certainly, if you wouldn't mind holding the handles to make sure it doesn't roll away?"

 

"Sure thing," Jim says, and then positions himself behind the chair. He's trying not to stare, but he can't help it as the kid leans in to help Xavier out. That's the most jarring thing so far, and while Jim remembers more about his interaction with Erik Lensherr than Xavier, he's pretty sure that despite everything, he can still see the confidence he remembers in the older man as Xavier settles himself in his wheelchair.

 

His thoughts must be particularly loud because Xavier looks up from smoothing the creases in his pants. There's a patient smile as he meets Jim's gaze. "I assure you, it's only my legs that are the problem."

 

Jim blushes. "Sorry, Professor."

 

"No, no, I've had a long time to get used to them so I understand why it must be a surprise," Xavier says. "And please, call me Charles. I also regret that I've been unforgivably rude. Jim Kirk, this is Sean Cassidy, or as we've come to call him, Banshee."

 

"Banshee?" Jim repeats as he shakes the kid's hand.

 

He gets a big grin in reply. "Maybe I'll give you a demonstration later on."

 

"So long as he doesn't face any glass," Charles says with a smile. "He's been a wonderful student and trusted colleague over the years, but we've had to replace the windows from time to time. Now, if we don't make our way into the house, we're going to be late."

 

Jim isn’t sure what he’s talking about right away. “For what?”

 

"The moon landing," he says.

 

"Oh, right." Jim steps away from the chair so Banshee can push, and ends up feeling useless for the first few steps toward the house. “Though New York's a bit of a long commute to Georgia.”

 

“True, I do regret not calling ahead,” Charles says, “but I felt this situation was rather exceptional. Would you please announce my presence to the lady of the house? It might take few more moments to reach the top of the stairs.”

 

At a bit of a loss, Jim nods and heads into the house first. He leaves the door open, and peeks into the living room. Joanna's lying on her stomach on the carpet, with her chin supported on her hands as she watches the newscast with Pavel. In the kitchen, everyone's gathered around and the room is warm with laughter and the smell of delicious food.

 

“Elenora,” he says from the threshold, “we've got another two guests.”

 

She shoots him a quizzical look. “Friends of yours?”

 

“In a way,” Jim says. “I think a lot of us here have met at least one of them. It's Charles Xavier.”

 

“The one who wrote the book on genetic mutation?” she asks.

 

“Right, and he's brought someone with him,” Jim says.

 

Spock looks interested. “Is it Erik Lensherr?”

 

“No, it's someone else,” Jim says, “otherwise the wheelchair could just float its way up the front stairs.”

 

There's a perplexed look on Spock's face, which says a lot, but Elenora ignores the comment as she makes her way to the front hall, wiping her hands on her apron. Charles and Banshee have made it in by now, while Joanna's pulled herself away from the television to peer at him shyly from the doorway. There's a paper-covered package on Charles's lap, which he didn't have before, and he offers it to Elenora with a warm smile.

 

“I apologize for dropping in suddenly like this,” he says after he's introduced himself.

 

“I've heard of you,” Elenora says, accepting the gift graciously. “I'm --"

 

"Mrs. Elenora McCoy, I believe," Charles says in a gracious voice. "The hostess of the day, and also Leonard's mother. I'm very pleased to meet you. You have a very lovely home, and a very charming son. I understand that he's finally a doctor himself now, which is marvellous. You must be very proud."

 

“I am!” Joanna interrupts with a sudden burst of courage as she slips next to her grandmother. “He's my daddy, but he's at work now. He has to help all the sick people even though he promised that he'd be here to watch the moon landing. My name is Joanna McCoy.”

 

“Hello, Miss McCoy,” Charles says, extending his hand. “I've got a long way to meet you, in fact.”

 

“You have?” That's got her interested, and she inches a bit closer. “Why?”

 

“Well, first of all, I find it absolutely magnificent that there are so many mutants who have gathered around you,” he says. “Your father, Jim, and all these other wonderful people. There are so many people like us in the world, Joanna, who are so very alone, and when I realized that all of you were here together, I simply had to meet all of you.”

 

“You're like me?” she asks, sounding a little sceptical.

 

“In my own way, yes,” Charles tells her, “though I regret to say that my eyes are very mundane compared to yours. Your eyes are a beautiful colour, Miss McCoy.”

 

She gives a little giggle at his formality. “My name is Joanna.”

 

“Then you can call me Charles,” he says. “You see, I can read minds, and I think your little friend Pavel is going to come in here to say that it's time to watch the moon landing.”

 

Sure enough, Pavel comes barrelling out of the living room. "They're starting the descent now!"

 

There's a mad rush to get everything in hand. Jim pauses long enough to ask Charles what he'd like to eat, and then hurries to get the plates prepared. Everyone's gathering in front of the television, and once Jim hands over the plate to Charles – Banshee's helped himself, which is useful – he ends up on the floor next to Joanna. She's leaning against his side, and she's vibrating with excitement.

 

"We're almost on the moon, Jim!" she whispers as the television suddenly shows the space craft descending down to the surface.

 

It's not like watching their favourite show, and it's a million times more exciting. Jim almost has a hard time remembering this is real, and he watches as the lunar surface comes closer and closer. The surface is completely pockmarked with craters, big and small, and he doesn't know why he thought he'd expect something else. The surface is coming closer and closer as he listens to the astronauts communicating back to Earth about their descent.

 

"Come on..." he whispers, willing it to go successfully.

 

Everything looks to be going okay, and he watches as the thrusters adjust their positioning until suddenly they're sixty seconds from landing. Jim suddenly realizes he's holding his breath, while Joanna suddenly grasps his hand in the tightest grip she can manage. They can finally see the lunar module's shadow, and then Jim isn't sure what's happening. The screen is dark, but if he squints, he's pretty sure the movement's stopped.

 

"Are they there yet?" Elenora asks.

 

The answer comes a heartbeat later: _"Tranquility Base, here. The Eagle has landing."_

 

Joanna lets out a shout of triumph, drowning out the reply as she gives Jim a quick hug, before scrambling over to Elenora. She doesn't stay long, making her way around the room, and even Charles and Banshee get a quick embrace before she throws herself back down on the floor again to watch what happens next.

 

As it turns out, not much at the moment. Joanna and Pavel are glued to the screen, while the adults talk idly while keeping an eye on the broadcast. Jim shifts over to Elenora, who's watching the television with an amazed expression that makes her look as young as her granddaughter.

 

"We're on the moon," she says, shaking her head. "I never thought I'd see the day."

 

"It is truly historic," Charles says from his position next to the sofa. "Millions of minds are focused on this very moment, all concentrated on a single shared accomplishment. I've never felt such unity before."

 

"What does that feel like?" Hikaru asks.

 

Spock has a unusually emotional expression, dark eyes bright with something that might be awe. "I would describe it as... fascinating."

 

"No," Charles says as he grins. "I would call it heartening."

 

Whatever it is, even Jim can feel it. He sinks back against the chair, wondering whether Bones managed a glimpse of the afternoon's events, or if he's been too busy to steal a moment. He finds himself missing Bones terribly, and distracts himself by watching the room. There's a good energy, and everyone's talking as the broadcast continues. At some point, it's mentioned that'll be another six hours before Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin get to step out on the lunar surface.

 

Joanna turns pleading eyes to her grandmother. "Can I stay up for that? Please?"

 

"We'll see," Elenora says.

 

It's not a good answer, and Joanna's just drawing breath to plead her case even further when the front door opens. Her protests forgotten for the moment, she scrambles to her feet and takes off into the hallway. Jim gets up to follow, if only to warn Bones that there's company, and finds him with Joanna in his arms.

 

"Did you see it? Did you see it?" Joanna's demanding.

 

Bones looks exhausted, but he manages a smile for his daughter. "I did."

 

She wiggles until she's back on the floor. "Everybody's waiting for you in the living room. I want to go watch the tv again, and there's food in the kitchen."

 

Bones watches her go, and leans against the door with a sigh. “And there went Joanna.”

 

“Did you get to see anything?” Jim asks.

 

“Some,” Bones says, looking at Jim fondly. "I think I managed to slip in maybe a few seconds from the landing. Today was not a good day for watching anything for extended periods of time."

 

"At least you're here now," Jim says as he slips in to steal a kiss. It can't be anything much, but that's all right. Bones looks perkier just from the contact. "Go get yourself something to eat, because I know you, you've probably been snacking on chocolate and nuts all day long. I think there's some coffee, too, but you should know that we've got extra company."

 

"We do?" Bones pushes at his bangs, much longer now, and tries to peer around Jim. "Is that why I had to park halfway down the road?"

 

"I can move my car later," Jim says, "but Charles Xavier is currently sitting in your living room."

 

"He is?" Bones' eyes widen, and then he's quickly heading upstairs, probably to change out of his scrubs. He pauses at the top, with a bit of an apologetic smile. "Um, mind grabbing me something from the kitchen? Anything, actually, doesn't matter."

 

"What did your last slave die of?" Jim yells after him.

 

"Overwork!" Bones says, and then he's in his room, the door closing.

 

Jim rolls his eyes, and goes to fetch a plate that has a bit of everything. He sets it aside for a moment as he gets a cup of coffee, black just the way that Bones likes it, and brings it into the living room. He can feel Charles watch him, and a curious poke of his mind that easy to recognize as the other man. Jim quirks an eyebrow at him, letting him know that he's been noticed. Charles has the grace to smile, while Banshee watches them as he eats cobbler almost blissfully.

 

"You know what?" Joanna asks as Jim settles down on the floor once he's placed everything on the only empty space on the coffee table. "Banshee can fly, too, just like Hikaru."

 

"Well, not exactly," Banshee says between bites, "but I can fly. Not much longer, though, if I keep eating this. This is amazing cobbler, Mrs. McCoy."

 

She looks pleased at the compliment, and when Bones finally emerges a few minutes later, dressed in comfortable jeans and a button-down first, her smile widens. Elenora pats the recently vacated spot next to her, and after she gives her son a fond kiss to the cheek, she claps her hands together. "Well, finally. Now that everyone's here, I can finally find out why we've got our surprise guests today. Not that I don't mind having guests, mind you."

 

For being a telepath, Elenora's word have caught Charles right in the middle of a bite of cobbler. He blinks his eyes several times, and then coughs a bit. "Well, yes, I suppose I could share that now. I do appreciate your hospitality, and wish I'd had an opportunity to be here long before now. I know that you have all been through a very difficult time, and let me say that I am very pleased to see that you have overcome those challenges admirably well."

 

Joanna squirms a bit, and then comes up to slide in between her father and grandmother. She glances at Bones, and then says, "How does he know about that?"

 

"Because most of the adults here are thinking about it," Charles says, as he touches his temple with a playful wink in her direction.

 

"Oh," she says, a little quietly, and then steals some of the veggies from Bones' plate.

 

"I met many of you seven years ago," Charles continues, "because my colleague and I at the time were looking for mutants to join us on a special project. I was able to locate you through a device we had called Cerebro, which allowed me to locate every single mutant. It was a very humbling experience for me, because although I knew more of us were out there, I never imagined how many. So many minds seeking connection."

 

"So what happened since then?" Nyota asks.

 

"A great many things," he says, "and not all of them positive. Friends lost, but many friends gained. The original Cerebro was unfortunately destroyed, but we now have a new version that just began operating a few weeks ago. That's how I became aware of you all together here, and that you've created this wonderful community here. All centred on you, Leonard, if I am not mistaken, as if you drew all these individuals together."

 

Bones ducks his head. "I didn't do anything."

 

"Perhaps not, but this is still a splendid community that you have," Charles tells him, "and I hope that I can only begin to emulate what you have created. Which brings me to the real purpose of my visit today. One of my own realizations seven years ago was how varied our mutations may be, and how difficult it can be for many individuals to come to terms with their differences or even to master their individual powers."

 

Banshee raises a hand at the point. "Case in point."

 

"Yes, precisely," Charles says, leaning forward as he looks at every face in the room. "Moreover, I also began to truly appreciate how some individuals might have a much harder time co-existing in our present society." There's a slight pause, his mind drifting more a moment, before he continues. "In some situations, these individuals can overcome those challenges."

 

"What kinds of challenges?" Joanna asks.

 

"Well, take those two boys who harassed you last year," Charles says quietly. "I'd say that was quite a challenge, my dear, and to be honest, I do not know what I would've done in your place."

 

"It was scary," she says, in a soft voice. Bones puts his arm around her, almost to shield her from the moment, but she's sitting up so stiffly that she barely moves.

 

"I can imagine," Charles agrees. "Now, imagine how someone like Spock would have behaved in such a situation, but keeping in mind that he's many years older than you. He has experience that you do not have."

 

"And he's bigger," she says.

 

Charles laughs. "Well, yes, he certainly is."

 

Joanna turns her head, to glance over at Spock who is sitting at Nyota's feet with a plate of cobbler seemingly forgotten in his lap. He has a strange look in his eye, Jim notices, as though the words are evoking memories of his own that are dangerously close to the surface. Nyota has her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, probably sensing what he's going through.

 

"He'd just raise his eyebrow at them and keep walking," Joanna says a few moments later. "Right?"

 

There's a hint of a smile on Spock's lips. "I would."

 

Bones leans in to place a kiss at the top of Joanna's head, and keeps her close. "What are you suggesting, Professor?"

 

"I have opened an academy for children such as yourselves," he says. "I am advertising it as a school for gifted youngsters, so as not to raise any suspicions about what we are doing. My aim is to create it as a place for young mutants to get a proper education, in a supportive atmosphere with other children where they are the norm, not the exception."

 

"In New York?" Elenora asks.

 

"Yes, at my family estate that has been transformed into a school," Charles says. "So far, I have only a handful of students, but I intend to host as many children as possible."

 

Bones doesn't say anything for a long moment, and then he finally asks, "You want Joanna to go there?"

 

"If you will let her," Charles tells him, "I will be more than happy to accept her as a student. It doesn't have to be now, it can be at whatever time she wishes, but the important thing is that when her mutation fully manifests in several years' time, she will be in a venue that will completely supportive."

 

There's quiet in the living room, marred only by the drone of the television. Jim watches as Bones hands his plate to his mother, and pulls Joanna onto his lap. They both have the same expression on there face, a bittersweet mix of melancholy and hope, and Bones puts his fingers under her chin to talk to her. "It's your decision, sweetpea. You don't have to make it now, and even then, if you change your mind, I'll respect what you decide completely."

 

She's biting her lip. "Can I stay up until ten o'clock first to watch the astronauts walk on the moon?"

 

"That'll help you decide what you want to do?" Bones asks, but now he's trying to smirk. Jim can see the dimple that's twitching in his cheek.

 

"Absolutely," she says.

 

"I can give you more information," Charles says, and then he glances at the rest of them. "I am also offering my help for any of you who might wish to explore their gifts, and challenge themselves to master it. We are all learning continually, even myself."

 

Mrs. Chekov is the one who speaks this time, very slowly and with her hand on Pavel's shoulder. "I believe my Pasha may be interested in what you are suggesting."

 

"Certainly," Charles says, smiling at Pavel with a fond look. "We can discuss it later, if you wish. This is also something you might wish to consider, as well, Ms. Uhura, although you'll have many years before you have to make your decision."

 

The focus of the room shifts to Nyota, and she flushes a bit under the scrutiny. Spock holds her hand, the slightest of smiles on his lips, and that's what encourages Elenora to be the first one to ask the obvious question. "Nyota, sweetheart, is there something you wanted to tell us?"

 

"I wasn't planning on mentioning anything yet," she says.

 

Charles winces slightly. "I'm so sorry."

 

"No, it's all right," Nyota tells him, and then there's another flurry of noise as congratulations fly across the room. Jim slips over to give her a hug, whispering his best wishes into her ear, and then shaking Spock's hand. The conversation around them is slowly sliding back to the theme of the night, with Joanna sliding off her dad's lap eventually to first hug Nyota before sitting close to the screen again. Bones doesn't move, and after a while, Jim realizes that he's drifted off mentally. He's in the centre of a group of people, and yet it's as if he's alone.

 

Just as Jim wants to say something, Bones shakes his head a bit, and then excuses himself from the room. He doesn't need to be a psychic to know that Bones wants a bit of time to himself, and lets him go. Eventually, if Bones is gone too long, Jim will go get him.

 

He always will.

 

~~~

 

Leonard sits on the swing, a glass of bourbon untouched in front of him, as he rocks and stares up at the moon.

 

Somewhere up there, he thinks, are people. It's different from knowing and hearing about the space race in the last few years, and while he knows he'll get used to the idea of humanity in space, it really does sound like something out of Joanna's television show. The only difference is that the human race is currently so unprepared for the challenges of space when they're too preoccupied with their petty issues on the ground.

 

Humanity is still pretty much the same.

 

Nothing's been easy in the last year, and while Leonard knows he's come a long way physically from those two months, he knows the edge to that particular precipice is still dangerously close. When he works too hard, he feels that chasm opening inside himself that threatens to draw him back down. Sometimes he can pull out of it himself, but sometimes he needs Jim's particular ministrations to stop the drain on his figurative battery.

 

What a hell of a mutation, if using his own energy means that sex is the only way to keep himself healthy. It's a good thing that whatever it is he has with Jim is going well, because otherwise he'd feel guilty about using him for the sex. Not that he makes it anyone's business but their own, but he's also under no illusion that it's a complete secret from their circle of friends.

 

He's just glad that no one views it as a problem.

 

What's a bigger problem is the rage he still carries over Joanna's accident. Most of the time, it smoulders in his chest instead of flaring up to white-hot intensity. Sometimes that happens, and it's never a pretty thing. Leonard knows carrying this much anger can't be a good thing, but he hasn't the slightest idea how he can let it go when he knows the cause of the accident – those two shitheads who ran her onto the street – is still there. He's seen the boys from a distance, and he's seen how Joanna still tenses and tries to hide behind the adults in her company.

 

He just doesn't know what to do.

 

At some point, he finds himself humming a song that he vaguely remembers from his childhood, with Billie Holiday singing about wishing on the moon. It's an appropriate thought for the evening, and as Leonard reaches for his glass for another sip of bourbon, he finds himself wondering if that wasn't half bad of an idea given the events of the day.

 

"May I join you?"

 

Leonard hasn't heard footsteps, so when he hears the strange intonation, he jumps in his seat. The moonlight brings the man's features into sharp relief, and to his amazement, he knows the face. It's Erik Lensherr, and he doesn't look much from different from the last time they'd met. Unlike Xavier, there really isn't anything that's changed about him.

 

"Be my guest," Leonard says. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you."

 

"I usually try to be more unexpected," Lensherr admits, and he eases himself on the other side of the swing with barely a sigh. He looks alert, and glances around the yard for a long moment. "It's a lovely evening."

 

"It is," Leonard agrees, and runs a finger along the rim of his glass. "I'm assuming that you're no longer working with Professor Xavier."

 

"Regrettably," Lensherr says, "and although I feel that we are working toward the same goals, Charles does not approve of my more direct approach."

 

"And what would that be?" Leonard asks.

 

Lensherr's eyes are grey in the moonlight. "I worry the time is approaching for mutants to defend their rights to exist. That it has already come, and will continue to present itself until we only have the option of resisting, or being exterminated."

 

That makes Leonard shiver despite the warmth of the evening. "That's a little dramatic."

 

"Allow me to share a story," Lensherr says, his voice dropping down to a murmur. "I have seen it happen before, and I see the signs all around me now. I come from Dusseldorf, and before the Nazis took my people away, we refused to think the rumours we heard were true, that we were to undergo something beyond horrifying."

 

As he speaks, Lensherr pulls up his sleeve, and in the faint light, Leonard can see the numbers tattooed into the soft, white skin of his forearm.

 

"The moments of indifference were the most telling," Lensherr continues. "None of us knew we were anything than German. We saw ourselves as an accepted part of the state, until the Nazis came to power and pointed out how different we were. I never understood completely, because I was a child, but I understood how it was unfair. I remember how it changed and the world began to close in on us.”

 

“That must have been difficult,” Leonard murmurs, because he really didn't really know what to say.

 

Lensherr smiles, but it's a quiet, automatic smile. “I remember a little girl who lived near my home. A brilliant child very much like your own daughter. For some reason, it was decided that she looked particularly Jewish, and every day she endured the taunts from the other children. Her life, like mine, narrowed down from the injustice that became the everyday norm. Until one day, they cornered her and tore her to pieces."

 

It isn't something that's difficult to imagine, and Leonard can see it clearly, as if he were living it. He's reliving the accident again, but now his imagination is substituting elements: instead of Joanna's limp body that he found, it's pieces of his cherished baby girl and the seething culpability of those who stood by. His anger is flaring up again, and he tries to shove it down without much success.

 

“We live in an era of change, Doctor,” Lensherr continues, as if he doesn't notice how his emotions are raw on the surface. “So much of the American way of life is being challenged. The blacks are speaking out against a system that uses terror to keep them complacent, and others are learning from their example. The problem is that no one will stand up for our rights, because what human would want to understand our issues? The first attempt to understand us as mutants nearly led to our extermination.”

 

That draws Leonard's attention. “It did?”

 

“You and I, we both understand human nature,” Lensherr says. “When faced with something it cannot comprehend, what is the normal reaction? For some, perhaps we can call them the enlightened, there is an attempt to understand. For the rest, however, it is an attempt to control, or to destroy when they perceive it to be a threat. Anything that challenges what they accept as truth, or their way of life, must be denied at all costs.”

 

“I'd rather focus on the positives,” Leonard admits, even though his heart isn't in the words. “But I don't follow you, exactly. We're human, just as they are.”

 

“Are we?” Lensherr leans forward, his expression intent. “Is that your medical opinion, Dr. McCoy?”

 

The question makes Leonard pause, and he contemplates what he knows from his experiences as Spock's doctor. “Physically, we're human.”

 

“Yes, but what makes us different from the Neanderthals?” Lensherr presses. “If I were to bring forward an individual, and dress him in modern clothes, would he visually be different? Perhaps the brow is heavy, perhaps his bone mass is larger than our own, but that is normal human variation, isn't it?”

 

“I'm a doctor, not an anthropologist,” Leonard says. “Our species survived, while the Neanderthals died out millennia ago. If I were to examine either one of us, we'd still be essentially human.”

 

“On the surface, perhaps,” Lensherr says. “I'm simply suggesting that we are something more. The potential of the human genome is infinite, and how we are evolving is manifesting in such different ways. Who would believe that someone like me could exert a magnetic force on a piece of metal? Or that you have the ability to manipulate physical energy to heal. I wonder what talents will manifest with your daughter, but only time will tell. Do you know the root of the word 'genome,' Dr. McCoy?”

 

The question throws him for a moment. “Well, other than referring to the genetic information that each organism carries....”

 

“It comes from the Greek,” Lensherr says. “'I become, I am born, to come into being,' which are very powerful words. The idea of becoming, of transformation. Potential.”

 

“We're evolving, but we're not a new species,” Leonard says. “Not yet.”

 

“No?” Lensherr raises his brows. “You forget that men have used science to prove that women are a different creature than themselves, or that the amount of pigment in one's skin means that someone with more colour is less human than someone with pale skin. I have a companion with wings, Dr. McCoy, and another with blue skin. How does that fit into the spectrum?”

 

That's not something he's encountered yet, and Leonard shuts his mouth, contemplating the thought. “I think my daughter would want to meet them.”

 

“And she can, if you permit it,” Lensherr says. “Because although it is only the colour of your daughter's eyes that is different, you have no idea what her talents will be when they manifest. You and I, our mutations are invisible, but your daughter, where can she hide in normal society? When the day comes when humanity decides we are too much of a threat to them, where will she go?”

 

“There's Xavier's school,” Leonard says.

 

“Yes, Charles' idea of a school for so-called gifted youngsters,” Lensherr agrees. “Quietly understated at first glance, which is much to his credit, and a good place for our children to go and learn their full potential. For all of our differences, I am the first to admit that Charles has a talent for drawing out the best from his students. Your daughter would do well there as a student, and she would be among others who understand her particular problems.”

 

The endorsement is almost a surprise. “You think it would be a good place for her.”

 

“It would.”

 

“But you don't think it would a safe place,” Leonard guesses.

 

“It may be,” Lensherr says. “Charles believes that by hiding in plain sight, we can thrive as a species until humanity is ready to accept us. For now, a specialized school might be the very best place for our children, but I fear this risks making us complacent. We cannot let our guard down. It would take only one government official to expose us, and turn society against us.”

 

“History repeating itself,” Leonard says, knowing his voice is faint.

 

For the first time, Lensherr looks sad. “Mankind is not known for learning from his mistakes. We are the future, Dr. McCoy. We are what the human race will be, and that is what humanity fears. We represent the unknown, and they know on an instinctual level that it will be to their detriment.”

 

More could be said, and it weighs in the air between them. Leonard takes the moment to finish his bourbon, and wishes that he'd brought out the bottle. The ice clinks in the glass, a delicate sound that makes him think of Joanna's laugh.

 

“I just want her to be safe,” Leonard whispers.

 

“Then send her to Charles,” Lensherr says, and reaches across the table to touch Leonard's hand. “Let her grow up without being ashamed of who she is. The day will come, however, when we will need to confront and defend ourselves from the humans, and when that time comes, I will need you to join me.”

 

That sounds entirely reasonable, and Leonard finally nods. “Whatever you need.”

 

“Thank you.” Lensherr pauses, and then sits back. “I've taken enough of your time tonight, I think. I will ask only one thing of you right now, and that is not to mention our meeting to Charles.”

 

Leonard can't help the wry smile. “I'd have better luck keeping my kid out of the cookie jar.”

 

Lensherr suddenly laughs, and it sound genuine. For a moment, it's possible to imagine him as the man he might've been if his life had gone differently. "How true. I've told Charles that it's rude to pry into another person's mind, but I suppose he's yet to learn his lesson.”

 

He's still smiling as he slips out of the swing and gets to his feet. He's only taken a step when Leonard realizes he needs to know something.

 

"Why did you come here today, Mr. Lensherr?" he asks. "And how did you know about what happened to my daughter?"

 

The other man pauses, just for a moment. "My people have their ways."

 

"Of course they do," Leonard says, slowly, but he's expecting more.

 

"Charles is not as discrete as he'd like you to think," Lensherr finally says after a long moment.

 

"Ah." Leonard scratches at an itch on his cheek. "What happens if I need to get in touch with you?"

 

"We'll know," he says. "However, should you need to find me, you'll do better if you simply call me Magneto."

 

Leonard feels both of his eyebrows going up. "Magneto?"

 

"Good night, Dr. McCoy," Magneto says, and slips away into the night.

 

For several long minutes, Leonard sits and stares in the direct where the other man has gone. There are a million thoughts in his mind, and all of them feel overwhelming. He stares up at the moon again, and while he doesn't feel like going inside just yet, he knows he probably should help clean up from the day's events. Everyone's still inside, but he can't be bothered to rejoin them just yet.

 

The back door opens, and from the sound of footsteps in the grass, he knows it's Jim coming out to find him. He waits until Jim's settled next to him, his body warm and smelling like cobbler, before facing him. Jim's face is open, the roundness of his cheeks looking shadowed in the moonlight to suggest how his face will mature in the next few years. Right now, he's smiling and there are endearing crinkles next to his eyes.

 

"Everything okay out here?" Jim asks. He's also brought out the bottle of bourbon, and he pours a splash into Leonard's glass. "I thought I heard voices."

 

Leonard isn't sure what to say right away, but then he finally shrugs. "Erik Lensherr stopped by."

 

"That's good... what?" Jim looks a little startled. "He did? Just now?"

 

"Yeah, he left not too long ago."

 

"What did he want?" Jim asks.

 

"Just to talk," Leonard says, and he feels Jim slip his arm over his shoulders. It's a nice comfort, something he rarely allows himself, and he leans in. The night's almost perfect now, and he stares up at the moon again. "Nothing much, just touching base. They've had a parting of the ways, it seems."

 

"Too bad, they seemed like good friends," Jim says.

 

"I think they still might be," Leonard says, "but they have a difference of opinion so fundamental that they have to be apart."

 

"That's intense." Jim leans his head against Leonard's, and then reaches out to steal a sip from his glass. "Hey, Bones, promise me that if we ever disagree, we'll agree to disagree. Deal?"

 

It's an empty promise right now, but it still needs to be said. Leonard resists the urge to snort, and catches Jim's hand to take the glass back for another drink. He licks his lips afterwards, and tries to smile. "Deal."

 

When he smiles, Jim is almost radiant enough to outshine the moon, but then it's marred by the worry that's been too common on his face in recent months. "You okay? You're looking tired. How was the hospital?"

 

Leonard shrugs, closing his eyes for a moment. "It was all right."

 

"We could go for walk," Jim suggests. "Find a nice place in the moonlight, and, y'know, recharge."

 

This time, Leonard does roll his eyes. "No, I'm okay. Not tonight, but soon. Not just because I'm running low, right? You're more than a convenient energy source for me, you know that?" Because it's important to say, even if it's hard to say the words sometimes. "I'm lucky to have you, Jim."

 

"Aw, you love me for more than my dick," Jim teases.

 

"Shut up," Leonard says, but he's smiling as he leans in for a quick kiss. "What time is it, anyway?"

 

"I don't know, about half past nine," Jim says.

 

“So we've got time.” Which is perfect, because he's not ready to go inside yet. As much as he loves his daughter, he knows Joanna's going to be strung tight both from the events of the day plus the fact she's up past her bedtime. It's his own fault for saying yes, but he couldn't deny her the chance to watch the actual moon walk. This is something she'll be talking about to her own children one day. “Who's still here?”

 

“The Chekovs left a while ago with Charles and Banshee,” Jim says. “I think they want to talk to him about maybe sending Pavel to school there for a while. Nyota and Spock are helping your mom, and Hikaru's sitting with Joanna watching the broadcasts. That's about it.”

 

“Ah.” Leonard strokes a finger down Jim's cheek, and then he finds he has a question to ask. “Do you think I should go with Charles?”

 

“And figure out how your mutation really works?” Jim asks.

 

“Yeah,” Leonard says.

 

Jim's silent for a few moments. “I don't see why that would be a bad thing. You're coping right now, and while it's working, I think you want a lot more than that. It would help you out, I'm sure. I mean, what happens if I'm in Iowa visiting my mom, let's say, and you're unexpectedly low on energy. What would you do?”

 

“You make me sound like some kind of incubus,” Leonard mutters, and he feels his cheeks heating up.

 

“Best looking demon I've ever seen, though you've got to work on visiting me in the middle of the night if you really were one,” Jim teases, and that makes Leonard want to duck his head. “But seriously, what would you do?”

 

“Yeah,” Leonard finally admits.

 

“It's the middle of the summer,” Jim says. “Maybe we can take a road trip up there. I seem to recall Spock's people coming from that area. We could take Joanna up to have a look at the school, and while we're there, maybe you can work with Charles on your little problem.”

 

“Smart idea,” Leonard says, and leans in for one last kiss. He suddenly shivers, because while it's still the middle of July, the temperature's dipped just enough to be slightly uncomfortable. “Come on, let's go in.”

 

Twenty minutes later, they're back in the living room. Joanna's sleepy but defiantly awake, and she's nestled in Leonard's lap on the sofa as they watch Neil Armstrong descend the ladder toward the moon's surface. Leonard feels Jim grasp his hand, and then Armstrong almost hops off and lands on the ground.

 

“ _That's one small step for man,”_ Armstrong says, and then he's pausing, as though processing what he's done and remembering how many people are listening. _“One giant leap for mankind.”_

 

“Yes,” Leonard murmurs, not really expecting anyone else to listen, “but where are we going?”

 

*fin*


End file.
